The Muck and the Mire
by madam-malicia
Summary: After the war, a free but disgraced Lucius Malfoy thinks he can repair his damaged reputation by aligning himself with the celebrated war hero, Hermione Granger. More details inside.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Muck and the Mire Author: Madam Malicia Main Pairing: Lucius/Hermione Secondary Pairings: Harry/Remus, Ron/Luna, Ginny/Neville, plus a few others I do not want to reveal just yet. Why yes, I am one of those sucky authors that likes to pair everyone up. Why do you ask?  
Rating: R for now. NC-17 chapters will be posted further along in the story except on those archives that do not allow explicit sexual content. A censored version will go in those places. Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Summary: After the war, a free but disgraced Lucius Malfoy thinks he can repair his damaged reputation by aligning himself with the celebrated war hero, Hermione Granger. Author's Notes: This was originally written for the L/Hr FQF on Livejournal for which I accepted this challenge:

Lucius turned on Voldemort just before the last battle and his information helped win the war. Thus, he gained immunity from prosecution for his prior DE activities. However, he's lost both his wife and son in the war as well as any social standing he once had. Lucius believes that if he courts and marries the right woman he can gain back all that he's lost...therefore he chooses Hermione the war heroine as the 'perfect' spouse for such a situation and thus he begins an old-fashioned blue blood courtship of the girl. Imagine Hermione's shock.

Unfortunately, this story ran away with me and I was unable to meet the FQF deadline so it is not officially part of the fest. I have already written a large portion of this fic, about 70,000 words I think, and will be posting chapters at regular intervals. I have no set schedule as it all depends on how busy I am and/or my betas are but unless something drastic happens, a chapter will be posted at least every two weeks, a week if I can manage it.

Also, in case you missed it in the "Secondary Pairings" section, this fic contains slash of the Harry/Remus variety. It is nothing graphic and occurs mostly in the background but if you are bothered by slash or just Harry/Remus then I recommend skipping this fic.

I would like to also like to send a BIG THANKS out to Adie aka Sweet Witch for Brit picking and polishing up this fic! Any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault.

It goes without saying that this fic will be rendered utterly AU by HPB.

I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

(and I promise my future Author's Notes will not be this damn long.)

xxxxx

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Yes," says Hermione Granger as she removes two large suitcases from the backseat of a maroon estate car. She pulls out her wand and two flicks and a swish later, their luggage shrinks to the size of dormice.

"This doesn't look like a fancy hotel," continues Doris Granger. She wrinkles her nose. "In fact, this looks like the sort of place a tart might take a man for a bit of hourly fun, if you catch my drift."

Hermione can't help but smile at her mother's assessment. However, Doris does have the right of it. Located in one of the seediest parts of London, the crumbling stone edifice before them is hardly what one expects of England's most exclusive Wizarding hotel.

But that is exactly what it is.

"Come along, Mum," Hermione says, scooping their luggage off the pavement. "We're quite late already."

Doris lags behind as Hermione walks towards the hotel.

"We're not leaving the car here, are we?" Doris asks, protectively clutching the car's bonnet with both hands. "Someone might take it!"

"It will be fine," says Hermione. "Haven't you noticed this particular street is completely free of people other than us? Muggles can't even see the hotel unless they are told it is here by a magical person."

Doris reluctantly moves away from the car and joins Hermione at the entrance.

They enter a huge, nearly barren lobby. Only a few tattered chairs, covered in what once was a fine gold brocade, are centered around a filthy, unused fireplace. The white-paneled walls are gray with grime and the wooden floor has obviously not been touched with a broom in years. A large chandelier hangs from the ceiling but affords poor light as its crystals are meshed into a fine network of dusty cobwebs.

Hermione squints, searching the darkness until her eyes land on the large reception desk. Behind the desk, a thin, old man with a bald head and tremendous muttonchops is hunched over a chessboard. Several of the disgruntled chess pieces are scattered at his feet, pulling at the hem of his trousers as they mutter angrily amongst themselves.

She taps lightly on the dust-covered, silver bell that lies on the desk.

The old man jerks and mumbles, "S'your move, Mackie."

"Hello?" prods Hermione, tapping the bell harder.

He lifts his head and stares at Hermione as if he can't believe his eyes.

"Goodness me!" he exclaims. "No one's used the Muggle entrance in years! Decades even!" His eyes widen even further and a large grin splits his face. "Hermione Granger! I recognize you from the Prophet! Heard much of your brave deeds." He leaps to his feet to vigorously shake Hermione's hand, nearly pulling it off in the process. "Jasper Smythe, Miss Granger! Very pleased to meet you. Very pleased, indeed!"

"Er - yes, likewise…" Hermione says, casting her mother a nervous look. "Is this where we check in?"

Mr. Smythe doesn't reply, continuing to beam at Hermione.

"Mr. Smythe?" Hermione fights to keep the impatience from her voice. "We are running quite late..."

"Oh! Of course! Of course!" Mr. Smythe nods indulgently and claps his hands together. "Mackie?" he booms. "Where are you, boy? We've got guests!"

A delighted squeal comes from behind and is followed by the patter of tiny feet. An excited house-elf appears before them. He wears a dark blue porter's uniform and his round flat cap is perched lopsidedly over one of his large bat-like ears. Hermione is pleased to see that he wears actual clothing, indicating that he is a free elf. She wonders if all the house-elves at the hotel are free but there simply isn't time to ask the questions.

"Mackie is happy to be of service," he says solemnly as he clicks his heels together and bends into a low bow. "Hasn't Miss and Madam some luggage for Mackie to attend to?"

"All taken care of," Hermione says, patting the coat pocket that contains their shrunken suitcases.

Mackie's face falls. His eyes are downcast as he tearfully mumbles to himself.

"You must forgive him, Miss Granger," Mr. Smythe says in a stage whisper. "It's been so long since he's had work."

After a moment's hesitation, Hermione reaches into her pocket and hands the suitcases to Mackie who cups then into his hands as if they were precious jewels.

"Mackie will take you to the other side," continues Mr. Smythe. "You'll check in there."

Mackie's back is stiff with pride as he leads them to the lift. Its doors are battered and as filthy as the rest of the place but the inside is clean and gleaming with ornate gold fixtures. The doors close of their own volition and not even a second passes before they open once more.

They step out into yet another lobby. This one sparkling and decadent, bedecked with luxurious blue silks and dark mahogany. It is an enormous space, with ceilings reaching higher than the eye can see. Statues of flirtatious, nearly-naked nymphs glide smoothly across the marble floor, offering refreshments to the hundreds of guests that crowd the area.

There is a flurry of activity as wizards and witches swarm around Hermione, to shake her hand or offer hearty congratulations.

Doris glows with motherly pride, yet is clearly confused at the adoration and fanfare.

Hermione anxiously tries to extract herself from the throng of people before Doris grows even more suspicious. She didn't think there would be so much attention and immediately regrets bringing her mother. Hermione hadn't much choice in the matter. Doris was present when the announcement and invitation arrived at the Granger's home in Cornwall and insisted on tagging along.

It is hard for Hermione to refuse Doris anything since the death of Reginald Granger. Hermione had often feared Death Eaters would target her Muggle family, but it was a heart attack that took her father, in the spring of Hermione's sixth year. Excepting an aunt in Bath, Hermione is the only family Doris has left. She has become exceptionally clingy since, frightened that she will lose her daughter as well.

Doris doesn't know how accurate her worries have been. She only knows the lies and half-truths Hermione has fed her over the years. She knows there was a powerful wizard named Voldemort who tried to take over the Wizarding world. She knows that Hermione helped bring him to justice and is now being awarded with the highest of Wizarding accolades: the Order of Merlin, First Class.

She doesn't know just how horrifying the war had been. She doesn't know her young daughter had fought on blood-drenched battlefields as too many friends and comrades were struck down around her. She most certainly doesn't know her daughter has killed, and on more than one occasion. Hermione pushes that particular thought out of her mind. It is not something she likes to think about. It is always a terrible thing to take a life, no matter how necessary it had been at the time.

Ten minutes later, Hermione has successfully freed them from the doting hordes and they approach the reception desk. The queue is incredibly long but Hermione and her mother are brought to the very front, passing the other, long-waiting patrons.

A beautiful middle-aged witch in cream-colored robes steps forward.

"Welcome to the Tuckin Hotel, Miss Granger!" she gushes. "It is an honor to have you and your mother stay with us. We have set aside one of our very best suites for you."

"Thank you," Hermione says as politely as she can manage. The Tuckin Hotel is a playground for the rich and Pureblooded. Hermione wouldn't have been very welcome at all a little while ago. And Doris, as a Muggle, would not have even been allowed on the premises.

Hermione hurries along the check-in procedures, and in short time, Mackie takes them to their suite. A large sitting area separates two bedrooms. Like the rest of the Tuckin Hotel, their rooms are lavish and richly decorated in the colors of autumn - Hermione's favorites. She doesn't think it's a coincidence.

In the center of the sitting room is a round table heaped with pastries and chilled goblets of pumpkin juice. An animated male statue, just like the ones below, stands near. His movements are fluid and graceful as he bows to the Granger women.

"I am Quintus," he says in a clear, lyrical voice. "I shall be your personal servant for the duration of your stay. It will be my pleasure to serve you in any way. In every way." Quintus leers at Doris, who stares at his monstrous set of genitalia, covered by a wholly inadequate fig leaf. "The leaf comes off," he adds with a wink.

"Does it?" Doris asks, grinning, and displaying far more interest than Hermione likes.

They avail themselves of the food and drink as Quintus puts away their things. Hermione feels the tension ease out of her body as she lounges on a settee. It is a great relief to be out of the public eye, away from the constant stares and deferential smiles. Hermione is hard pressed to believe that she once envied Harry for his fame. Now that she has got a taste of the limelight herself, she longs for the days when she was only known for being Gryffindor's resident swot.

Unfortunately, her respite is not to last. Tonight is the Opening Banquet, marking the beginning of what is to be a weekend's worth of festivities. Tomorrow it will be exactly one year since Voldemort was eradicated. The following months were spent rounding up his followers. The last, Rodolphus Lestrange, had been captured less than a month ago.

And now it is time for celebrations. The world is finally at peace. At least for the moment. Hermione has read the history books; she has seen the pattern. The history of the Wizarding world can be neatly divided by its eras of Dark Lords. One Dark faction falls, only to have yet another rise. It is merely a matter of time before war ravishes the world once more.

Hermione forces herself off the settee and into her bedroom. The Opening Banquet has already begun and she is very late. Despite that, she is slow in her preparations as she changes out of her Muggle attire and into a set of robes.

She doesn't want to be there. None of them do. She is very glad that the war is over but it isn't something she wants to celebrate. Not when there are so many who cannot.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Fred Weasley, Hagrid, Professor Dumbledore…

All gone, among a host of many more.

The Ministry has all but badgered them into attending, resorting to blackmail in many cases. It won't be the same if they don't have their war heroes to parade about. Ultimately, it had been easier to give into Cornelius Fudge.

Hermione frowns, thinking of the man. It grates her every nerve that he is still Minister of Magic. A movement to remove him from office had widespread support in the summer after her fifth year, but in the end many were reluctant to make a change in power while at war. However, the elections draw near and Fudge knows his reign is sure to come to an end. He is not going out without a fight.

Fudge is desperate to regain the public's good favor. The overly ostentatious award ceremonies play a major role in his campaign. Anyone who has done as little as wag a finger in disapproval at a Death Eater is being rewarded in some way.

None are being honored as much as Harry, Ron and Hermione. They were the only ones present when Voldemort was finally vanquished. Of course, it was Harry who dealt the final blow, but it couldn't have been done without Ron or Hermione. They used their magic to fortify Harry's own.

When Hermione returns to the sitting room Doris announces she is too exhausted from the long drive to attend the banquet. Hermione is secretly pleased but feigns disappointment. Keeping her mother in the dark is paramount. The more Doris stays secluded from the Wizarding world, the better.

She avoids the more heavily populated areas as she makes her way to the banquet. It is held in a magically created space, bewitched to appear as the seaside. A fat, pale moon glimmers on the gently lapping waves of the enchanted sea. It was cold and misty when Hermione arrived at the Tuckin but here the air is warm and the night sky is clear, glittering with stars. Paper globes filled with fireflies float about, providing a soft, romantic light for the thousand attendees sitting at round tables.

A stout Ministry official with a large wart on the tip of his nearly nonexistent chin leaps upon Hermione when she enters. He babbles animatedly as he leads her to a long, rectangular table resting upon a dais. Seated at the table are those Hermione has come to regard as friends and family. All of them are members of the Order of The Phoenix. They had been the power players in the war.

They are not a happy lot. Frowns and grimaces all around except for Ron who is nattering to a very bored looking Nymphadora Tonks. He grins at Hermione as she is seated between him and Harry.

"There you are, Hermione! We were beginning to think you skived off."

"I should be so lucky," says Hermione. "Mum and I got lost on the motorway."

"You should have Floo-ed over."

"I've told you before, my mum hates traveling by magic."

"Where is Doris?" asks Mrs. Weasley, who sits further down the table.

"She was too tired from our drive to attend, thank God."

Mrs. Weasley murmurs in understanding. Hermione has enlisted her help in keeping Doris distracted over the weekend, away from all the talk of Voldemort and the war.

Ron tugs on Hermione's sleeve, to recapture her attention. "Have you heard the great news? They are talking about putting us in the next edition of the Chocolate Frog Cards. You, me and Harry!" Ron's face flushes with excitement. "Can you believe it? Me! Ronald Weasley! On a Chocolate Frog Card! I would just die!"

"You're going to die, all right," says Ginny, shaking her wand at Ron from across the table. "I'm going to Avada Kedavra you myself if you don't shut up." She gives Hermione a distressed look. "It's all he's been on about for days."

Ginny's threat has no effect on Ron's prattle. Hermione feigns interest as she scans the large gathering, looking for one face in particular. At long last she spots him, sitting at a table not even a hundred meters away. As if feeling her stare, Theodore Nott looks up. A small smile is exchanged before both turn away with a blush.

Theodore was the first and only Slytherin to join Dumbledore's Army, which had become an official school club and thus open to all of Hogwarts. He showed up at a meeting shortly after his father had been sentenced for life in Azkaban in their sixth year. Theodore, as Hermione would later learn, held none of his family's supremacist beliefs and with the elder Nott out of the way, he had been free to do as he wished.

Harry and Ron refused to trust him; certain he was only there to spy. They never got to know Theodore like Hermione has. In Theodore, she has found a quiet, clever friend whose love of learning matches her own. Many a night has been spent with him, discussing magical theories or the differences between the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. Hermione has always hoped that their relationship might turn into something more. They have certainly skirted around the issue numerous times, even going as far as to share a brief kiss. But with the war raging on, she could find no time for romance.

Hermione, it seems, is the only one afflicted with that particular problem. Everyone else has managed to find love amidst the battles. Ginny and Neville have come together and are planning to marry soon. Luna Lovegood's long-standing crush on Ron finally came to fruition just six months prior.

And with Harry came the biggest surprise of all.

Everyone knew he and Remus Lupin had become very close after Sirius' death, bonding with each other in their grief. No one realized just how close until a few months after Voldemort's demise when Remus was badly injured in a skirmish with a few rogue Death Eaters. Harry moved into to Remus' rooms at Grimmauld Place, presumably to take care of him. Weeks later, when Remus was completely healed, Harry didn't bother to move out.

Hermione hasn't completely wrapped her mind around the fact that her best friend is in love with a middle-aged werewolf. But they are happy. Hermione can see that as they lean in to intimately whisper to the other.

"Oy! Bend over and lift your robes!" exclaims Tonks, breaking Hermione's reverie. "Minister Fudge is coming to kiss our arses some more!"

A collective groan of annoyance sounds as Cornelius Fudge bounds towards them, a group of photographers and journalists chasing his heels.

xxxxx

The parcel arrives early on Saturday, wrapped in plain, brown paper, unceremoniously dropped on his head as he is about to take his morning tea. Only the large black owl flapping around the dining room in vain hopes of getting a treat is there to bear witness as Lucius Malfoy receives his Order of Merlin, Fifth Class.

It is the lowest commendation ever awarded to a Malfoy and is more of an insult than anything. Lucius certainly takes no pride in receiving it. Nonetheless, he still takes the medal to the trophy room and places it with the others. It looks small and insignificant next to the more impressive awards given to Malfoys over the centuries. Ironically, it is the only one honestly gained, having not been bribed or blackmailed from the Ministry.

A loud snicker comes from a large painting that hangs above the empty fireplace. The subject is turned, showing only the back of his sleek, blond head.

"Good morning, Uncle Titus," Lucius says dryly.

As expected, the portrait does not respond.

Titus is like the other family portraits. Each of them makes a grand show of turning their backs to Lucius as he moves down the long halls of Malfoy Manor.

Hypocrites, all!

How very approving his ancestors were in those early days of the war, when it looked as though the Dark Lord would prove victorious. But, it was the Light Side that came out the victor and now Lucius is a fool, an idiot for following some megalomaniac Halfblood.

The only portrait that does not shun Lucius is the one he wishes would ignore him the most.

Just as he had been in life, Draco Malfoy is eager for his father's attention. He leaps in and out of the other paintings following Lucius and crying, "Father! Father!"

Lucius quickens his step and pretends not to hear. Though he has often thought of destroying the painting that houses his son, just as he has done with Narcissa's, Lucius knows he'll never be able to do it. It is the only bit of Draco he has left.

It had been the murder of Draco that sparked Lucius into changing sides. The Dark Lord had Draco killed over what was a rather small transgression just before the end of it all. Narcissa, the weak-willed woman that she was, committed suicide in her sorrow. Lucius, on the other hand, sought revenge.

Without further thought, Lucius left the Death Eater's ranks to join Albus Dumbledore's precious Order. Lucius never wanted the Light side to win, but his need to see the Dark Lord completely obliterated surpassed any other desire. Lucius' eleventh hour decision not only helped achieve that end but had also prevented him from being persecuted for his war crimes.

If Lucius were a different man, he may have been happy with his current lot in life. He has his freedom and health, fairing much better than his former associates, all of whom are dead, Kissed, or imprisoned in Azkaban.

He even has his wealth, although only Lucius is aware of that fact. As they had done with all known Death Eaters, the Ministry seized the Galleons in his Gringotts account early on, to help pay for the war effort. Lucius had been well prepared for it and has secreted away vast sums of money off the isle. He is still a very wealthy man and has no intentions of living the remainder of his life in some pretense of genteel poverty. Reincorporating his hidden funds into the Wizarding world rates high on his agenda.

Even higher is his need to regain the standing he lost with his alliance with the Dark Lord. For centuries, the name Malfoy was synonymous with power, wealth and privilege.

Now it is mud. Lower than that even.

The intolerable situation is only temporary, Lucius is certain.

"We Malfoys are like cream," his father used to say. "We always rise to the top."

Indeed, Lucius would rise again and for weeks has been planning the means to do just that.

Lucius goes to his study, the unofficial base of his operations. The room is neat and tidy but for the massive wooden desk. It is covered with towering piles of rolled parchment threatening to fall over with even the slightest breeze. The rolls make up a most complete dossier about the young witch that is to be his salvation.

Lucius may have lost his footing in the Wizarding world, and its respect, however, he still has some contacts, most of them of the rather unsavory sort. But, very thorough, they are, and Lucius surmises that he now knows more about Hermione Granger than her own mother. Everything from her odd obsession with house-elves to her NEWT scores to the fact that she likes a pinch of cinnamon in her morning porridge. Lucius even knows about the small, crescent-shaped birthmark on the bottom curve of her left buttock.

Amidst the parchment lies this morning's Daily Prophet. A large photograph takes up the entirety of the front page. It is of Cornelius Fudge, smiling widely as he stands among the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix. Fudge seems unaware, or more likely, uncaring, that the others are frowning or outright glaring at him.

Lucius continues to leisurely peruse the Prophet. Nearly every news item is in someway related to last night's Opening Banquet. In the Society pages he finds stories and photos of the more personal type. He smiles at a surreptitiously taken photo of the young Potter boy embracing his werewolf lover.

Oh, what a delicious scandal that would have caused, had it been anyone other than Harry Potter. There isn't a thing the world won't forgive its Savior, including shacking up with a dangerous, Dark creature.

It had been Potter's tryst with the werewolf that gave Lucius the idea. Remus Lupin's station in life improved dramatically when his association with Potter had come to light. Formally ostracized and spurned by most, Lupin can now be counted among the royalty of the Wizarding world. There has even been talks of rescinding many of the strict laws that regulates a werewolf's life.

Anything to please Potter.

Had Lucius any inclinations towards the male sex, he may have been be tempted to snatch Potter from Lupin. So determined is Lucius, even that may not have stopped him. However, his needs include offspring. While marriage is entirely possible between two wizards, pregnancy is not. So it is a female he needs. Hermione Granger fits the bill almost perfectly. A more beloved witch cannot be found.

There is the rather unfortunate state of her Muggle ancestry. That he is reduced to pursuing a Mudblood is a very bitter pill to swallow, but swallow it he has.

Lucius knows he cannot lose himself in dreams of what the world should be. That is a fool's game. The world is what it is and Lucius must find a place in it, by any means necessary.

With ambition comes sacrifice, says the old family motto, and Lucius is prepared to make a very big sacrifice, indeed. And with Hermione Granger by his side, not only will he infiltrate the new order of the world, he will reach the top.

And, if she proves to be as irritating as Lucius suspects, well…tragic accidents happen all the time. The role of bereaved widower is as good as that of loving husband. Preferable even, now that Lucius thinks about it.

But that is for later reflection, now he must concentrate on getting her to that state of wedded bliss.

The clock on the mantle chimes ten, snapping Lucius into action. Time is a-wasting.

Today. It all begins today.

Lucius is completely confident of his success as he lifts a wide, flat box off the mantle of the fireplace. The box is of a shimmering purple and is bound tightly in golden cords. Its appearance gives every indication that it is a gift in the tradition of L'Amour Contractuel, not that Hermione will know that. Her ignorance of Pureblood customs will work in Lucius' favor.

His grip is firm on the gift as he Apparates to the Tuckin Hotel. When he arrives at the appointed Apparation zone, a house-elf immediately steps forward to say, "Welcome to the Tuckin Hotel, sir. Tappy is thrilled-"

"Hush, elf!" barks Lucius, as he grabs one the elf's large ears and pulls him towards the lobby. He thrusts the package into Tappy's hands and says, "Take this to the reception desk. It is to be delivered to Hermione Granger."

"Certainly! Sir is most kind to entrust this task to-"

He gives the foul creature a swift kick in the bum. "Go! Now!"

Lucius watches from the shadows as Tabby scampers to the desk. He would have preferred to do it himself, to ensure it's delivery but the witch behind the desk is sure to recognize him and will doubtlessly refuse to deliver a gift from an ex-Death Eater to a revered war hero.

Once the deed is done, Lucius makes to leave. Bringing the gift to Hermione was his only aim in coming to the Tuckin Hotel.

But then he sees her and a new plan begins to form.

Lucius would have recognized Doris Granger even if he had never seen her before. She is but an older version of her daughter.

He casts a Disillusionment charm on himself and follows his target through the lobby.

Never leaving her side is Molly Weasley. The two women traipse through the hotel's lower levels, pursuing the various delights and entertainments that can be found at the Tuckin. Lucius can't be certain, but it seems as if the Weasley woman is intentionally veering Doris away from the ceremonies being held by the Ministry.

Lucius soon grows impatient. He must get Doris Granger alone. She is a vital part of his plan. He slyly hits Molly with an exceptionally nasty hex that will leave her sitting on the toilet for hours. She makes a quick pardon before running for the nearest loo.

Doris stares concernedly after her then returns to her prior activity of posing before a large blank canvas, which, for two Galleons, will paint you in the style of any of the old Masters. She laughs with a child-like exuberance when her likeness forms as the Mona Lisa.

Lucius makes sure the area is completely evacuated before he makes his move and performs additional spells to ensure their privacy.

Near Doris is a bust of Medusa and Lucius's plans are further cemented. Medusa's serpents move docilely about her head but after a quick flick of Lucius' wand, they spring to life. Hissing madly as they lengthen and assail the unsuspecting Doris.

Her anguished screams are like music to Lucius' ears and he nearly loses himself in the nostalgia of the old days, when a bit of Muggle sport was as certain as the sun setting.

But he cannot tarry.

Lucius removes the Disillusionment charm as he swoops forward. Hair flying and robes billowing. Lucius likes to think he looks like an angel descending from heaven. Blue light extends from his wand, turning Medusa and her violent snakes into a pile of smoldering ash.

Doris falls into his arms and he carries her to a nearby velvet-covered bench. He rubs her back soothingly and says, "There, There. You are perfectly safe now."

She looks tearfully up at him and Lucius notices a deep, bloody gash marring her right cheek. He gently touches his wand to the wound, completely healing it. A large, face-deforming scar remains, though Lucius could have removed that as well. He doesn't, just because he can.

It's the little things that make life worthwhile.

Doris palms her cheek and grins at Lucius, revealing large, gleaming white teeth. "Thank God you were here!"

Lucius gives his most charming smile. "Not at all, madam. It's always my pleasure to rescue a beautiful woman."

xxxxx

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought of the first chapter. I do appreciate con crit so please don't hesitate to tell me about any mistakes or negative reactions you might have had.

Oh and if you want to be notified of updates and such I would reccomend keeping an eye on LJ. There is a link in my profile. I will be also be posting some L/Hr fan art there from time to time. 


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Rating, disclaimer and all that good stuff is in chapter one...

Thanks to Adie for Brit Picking and correcting my mistakes!

And thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! Keep it up:)))

xxxxx

"She's insisting on a huge wedding, of course!" Ginny exclaims. "With hundreds and hundreds of guests, but has the old bat lifted a finger to help or offered a single Knut for the cause? Hell no, she hasn't!"

The Order of Merlin, Second Class, jiggles slightly on Ginny's robes as she shakes her fist with indignation.

Hermione's own medal is larger and heavier than Ginny's. It has weighed her down since receiving it that morning and Hermione can't wait to take it off.

Only a few moments longer...

Ginny continues to seethe about Neville's grandmother as they walk towards Hermione's suite so that Ginny can borrow a new pair of stockings, having ripped her only good pair during the day. The war may have brought the Weasley family a bit of fame, but it certainly hasn't come with any fortune.

A low, guttural moan greets the pair as they enter the rooms. Startled, Hermione investigates the sounds coming from her mother's bedroom. The door is slightly ajar and Hermione hesitantly pushes it open, a little anxious of what she may see. She hadn't liked those looks Quintus gave Doris last night.

Doris is lying on the bed, seemingly naked under a white sheet. Quintus hovers over her, working his marble fingers into Doris' back as he massages her.

"Hi, sweetie!" Doris says cheerfully. "You really ought to let Quintus have a go at you. His hands are like magic!"

She giggles at her little joke.

Hermione does not share the laughter.

"Mum!" she shrieks, noticing the large scar on her mother's cheek. "What happened to your face?"

Doris touches the mark as she begins the tale of her harrowing encounter with Medusa.

Hermione quickly becomes angry. The hotel's management is going to get a talking to like they won't believe. So enraged is Hermione, she barely hears her mother as she gushes about the handsome blond man who saved her.

"He was so gallant! I didn't even get his name," she adds with a touch of sadness.

Hermione feels disappointed as well, wanting to thank the man who came to her mother's aid.

She pulls out her wand and tries to charm away the scar. Unfortunately, healing spells have never been Hermione's forte and she has barely made a difference.

"Stop fussing," says Doris, waving a dismissive hand. She is eager to get back to Quintus' ministrations. "Go and look in the sitting room; a gift arrived for you today."

In the sitting room, Ginny is holding the gift, turning it over in her hands and inspecting it from every angle.

"Hermione!" she cries, "I don't believe it. You got a L'Amour Contractuel gift!"

"A what?"

"A L'Amour Contractuel gift," Ginny repeats in a horrendous French accent. She thrusts the package at Hermione.

Hermione gingerly takes the gift from Ginny. She can feel some sort of magic radiating from the purple box.

"What's a L'Amour Contractuel gift? I've never heard of such a thing."

"Most people haven't," says Ginny. "It's a French tradition that fell out of favor centuries ago. Even most Purebloods know nothing of the practice. I only know because it was in one of Mum's romance novels." She blushes slightly. "I just read it for the naughty bits."

"But what is it?"

"L'Amour Contractuel is a type of Wizarding courtship," Ginny explains. "It almost always ends in marriage. It is initiated when a wizard gives a gift to the witch he wants to marry. By accepting the gift, the witch is giving her permission to be courted. Acceptance is assumed if the witch uses the gift or does not return it within a fortnight. Parents can accept the gift for their children. The wizard also needs the parents' approval before the courtship can proceed."

Hermione finds her interest in the gift waning with Ginny's explanation. She has received several crackpot marriage proposals since entering the public eye.

"So…another nutter who wants to marry me…"

Ginny shakes her head vigorously. "No, Hermione. L'Amour Contractuel is not to be messed with. It's legally and magically binding. There are severe fines and penalties if either party doesn't hold to the rules. Whoever it is must be very serious."

Hermione wants to laugh, but Ginny looks so very solemn.

"Open it," prods Ginny, "See who it's from."

Instead, Hermione drops the gift on the table and pokes at it with her wand. "I don't think I should. There's some sort of magic in this box. It's probably a trick."

"L'Amour Contractuel gifts are always charmed to let the giver know if it's been accepted."

"And that's according to this book you read?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm," says Hermione, thoughtfully chewing her bottom lip. She is not about to trust second-hand information from a cheap bodice ripper. She taps the box, performing a myriad of diagnostic spells she learned during the war.

Indeed, the box is only charmed with notification spells. There is nothing in the gift that will harm her if she opens it.

Still, Hermione is wary. This entire L'Amour Contractuel business is disconcerting, especially since she knows so little about it.

"Aren't you going to open it?" asks Ginny, bustling with curiosity. "It's probably jewelry. The first gift usually is."

Hermione pushes the box towards Ginny. "You open it, if you're so interested."

"I can't," says Ginny. "Only the recipient can open the gift."

Though feeling she is making a mistake, Hermione pulls the golden cords off the box. She lifts the lid - and gasps.

Ginny nudges in closer. "Oh, Hermione!" she says in breathless whisper. "It must have cost the earth!"

Hermione doesn't doubt that as she looks upon the sparkling necklace contained within the box. The necklace is collar-like, with large, flat, square-cut diamonds set down the whole length. Despite the number of diamonds - Hermione stops counting after twenty - the piece is understated, not too flashy.

"Who would send me something like this?" Hermione asks in bewilderment.

"Look at the card, Hermione! Look at the card!"

Hermione pulls a previously unnoticed card from the box. No words are written on the card; there is only what appears to be a small, embossed family crest. Like most Wizarding crests, it does not follow the traditional rules of Muggle heraldry. In fact, only the standard heraldic shield and a small banner with indeterminable script remain. Contained within the shield is a rather sinister-looking tree. On closer inspection Hermione sees that the green on the branches are not made of leaves, but dozens of tiny, writhing snakes.

"Well, this doesn't tell me a thing!" says Hermione. "How am I supposed to know who sent it?"

"It's a family crest," says Ginny, taking the card from Hermione. "L'Amour Contractuel was only practiced by rich Purebloods; those of Malfoy's ilk. They'd know exactly who sent it by the crest alone."

"Do you recognize it?"

"No," says Ginny with a shake of her head. "My family never really held to any of that snooty stuff. It does look positively Slytherin though."

Hermione agrees, and takes the card from Ginny to scrutinize it, hoping some clue or hint will manifest itself. The image is somewhat familiar to her, as if she has seen it before. She closes her eyes and searches her memories.

Less than a minute later, she remembers the crest.

It was at the very beginning of her sixth year, on the Hogwarts Express. While doing her Prefect rounds she had to break up a skirmish between Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. Theodore stood next to a trunk with that very same image etched upon the lid. Hermione has a clear memory of that incident because it is the first time she has ever seen another Slytherin go against Malfoy.

"Theodore Nott!" says Hermione. "He had a trunk with that picture on it!"

"Of course!" exclaims Ginny, grinning. She is well aware of the long-standing flirtation between the two. "It has to be! He is rather stodgy and old-fashioned about things."

Hermione frowns at the description of her friend, but cannot deny the truth of it. Although Theodore displays an amazing amount of open-mindedness given his background, he is very much 'old school', deeply immersed in the ways of the Pureblooded. Invoking some old Wizarding tradition is exactly the sort of thing he may do if he wants to marry a girl.

Good Lord! He wants to marry her!

This is quite a shock. Hermione likes Theodore--but marriage? Has she given some indication that her feelings run deeper than they do?

She and Theodore need to have a nice long talk. She certainly wants to date the boy, but marriage is completely off her radar. Something she won't even consider for years. In fact, she thinks Ginny and Neville are quite foolish for committing themselves at so young an age.

Even so, she is very flattered that Theodore thinks so much of her. And to express his desire with such a lovely gift!

Hermione lifts the necklace from the box, admiring the way the gems sparkle in the sunlight. Something compels her to put the necklace on, to see how it looks around her neck.

"Careful, Hermione," Ginny says suddenly. "Putting it on is the same as accepting it. Are you going to accept it?"

"No," says Hermione as she carefully places the necklace back in the box. "I like Theodore; just not that way. At least not yet."

Ginny nods. "Let him down easy."

A little later that evening, Hermione contemplates how she can dissuade Theodore as she prepares for the Survivor's Ball the Ministry is holding that night. She'll have to be gentle about it. She doesn't want to hurt Theodore's feelings.

The necklace lays in its box on the top of Hermione's dresser. She likes looking at it. She gets a warm, giddy feeling in knowing that Theodore really likes her. The necklace is proof of that. Hermione supposes it might be fun to be courted in some grand Wizarding style and every now and then she is tempted to accept the gift.

However, after Ginny's information, she is not ready for what L'Amour Contractuel entails.

Theodore is to attend the ball tonight, so she will have to get him alone and explain that to him.

And if she feels bold enough...she'll suggest they see each other just as a man and a woman, with no archaic traditions involved.

Satisfied with her course of action, Hermione concentrates on getting ready. She slips on her dress robes. They are made of a sheer, deep blue material that is so light, Hermione feels as if she is wearing nothing at all. The neckline is cut quite a bit lower than she likes, but a quick charm takes care of that problem.

As Hermione is applying a small amount of makeup, Doris enters the bedroom. She wears a dress of pale, yellow silk. It is entirely Muggle but styled in such a way that it will not stand out too much in the Wizarding world.

Doris immediately notices the necklace. "Hermione! Was this your gift? It's beautiful! And very dear by the looks of it."

"Yes," says Hermione. "It's from a friend, but I can't accept it."

"Why not?"

"It wouldn't be appropriate."

Doris clearly disagrees but does not press the issue. She joins Hermione at the dressing table and picks up a brush to begin the very daunting task of taming Hermione's bushy mass of curls.

It takes almost a half hour to corral the unruly mane into something sleek and sophisticated. Hermione doesn't tell her mother the same effect is easily achieved in less than a minute with a quick rubdown of Sleekeasy's and a few well-placed charms. She knows her mother has missed this. Hermione may have never seen the appeal of spending a great deal of time on her appearance but Doris is a completely different matter. In fact, most of Hermione's pre-Hogwart memories of her mother are of staring at her through a mirror as she pretends Hermione is her own personal Sindy doll.

When she is finished, Doris steps back to admire her handiwork. She presses her palms together and sighs.

"You look so beautiful," she coos. "But something is missing."

Hermione shrugs as she bends down to pull her slippers on. She feels Doris' hands move around her neck and something heavy and cold fall against it.

The necklace!

No!" cries Hermione as Doris clasps the necklace together. A chime sounds in Hermione ear and she feels a tiny a spark of magic. Most likely to alert Theodore that the necklace has been accepted.

"There you go," says Doris, not noticing the horrified look on her daughter's face. "It looks lovely on you."

Hermione clutches at her throat. "Mum! I told you I wasn't accepting it!"

Doris waves a flippant hand. "Just wear it for the night. It'd be a waste not too. You can return it in the morning."

Hermione hopes that is true. She breathes deeply and tries to relax. It's just Theodore, she tells herself. He is a rational boy and will understand she didn't mean to accept his gift.

She doesn't know why a sudden feeling of foreboding overtakes her .

xxxxx

Outraged gasps and hushed whispers follow Lucius as he moves through the large gathering of wizards ands witches at the Survivor's Ball.

A fierce glare takes care of his hecklers and they scatter like ants under a magnifying glass.

Lucius smiles. It pleases him to know he can still inspire a healthy amount of fear.

His smile deepens when he sees Severus Snape sitting alone at the bar. Severus is one of the few people Lucius still considers a friend.

For years, Lucius knew of Severus' duplicity. During the war, he was a double agent to both sides, providing information that on the surface seemed so very important, but ultimately did not affect the outcome either way. Severus had not truly aligned himself to a side until it became clear which would be victorious. A dangerous and potentially deadly game, but Severus pulled it off beautifully.

Lucius can't help but admire such a masterful deception to two of the most powerful wizards the world has ever known.

It had not been their years of friendship that stayed Lucius' tongue. No, Lucius would have revealed Severus' ruse in an instant if he thought it would have benefited him. It would not have, however. The Dark Lord's favor had not been what it once was. In his second rising, the Dark Lord became a man stingy in his rewards and swift in his punishment. To reveal Severus as a traitor would have only resulted in his death and Lucius getting a mere pat on the back.

So Lucius kept the information to himself, intending to use it when it would be most opportune. Lucius is glad he stayed silent, for when he had decided to change sides it was Severus who convinced Dumbledore to let Lucius into their circle. Had it not been for him, Lucius would surely have met the same fate as the other Death Eaters.

"Severus," Lucius says jovially as he joins him at the bar. "I'm surprised to see you here. I thought you said a herd of raging hippogriffs could not make you attend."

Severus growls and knocks back a steaming shot of green liquid. "The Ministry threatened to revoke my Potions license if I did not. And what of you? I heard Minister Fudge himself asked you not to come as your presence would be a painful reminder to the Dark Lord's victims."

"Yes, well…since when do I ever take orders from Fudge?" asks Lucius. He swivels in his stool so that he can look out at the ballroom. "I'm here to see Hermione Granger."

Severus stares at Lucius through a veil of greasy, black hair. "Why would you be interested in a Gryffindor Mudblood?"

"Watch your tongue!" Lucius chides with mock censure. "That's my future wife you're slighting. I've initiated L'Amour Contractuel."

"You've what?"

Lucius grins at the gobsmacked man. "Come now, Severus. I think I could do a lot worse than a sweet, pretty witch warming my bed."

And Hermione does clean up very well. That is one less concern. Lucius espies her sitting amongst a group of Weasleys far across the ballroom. The necklace he has given her hangs around her neck. She touches it intermittently and looks out into the crowd, as though searching for someone.

She doesn't know it, but she is looking for him.

Severus shakes his head. "I don't know what you're playing at Lucius, but watch yourself. Miss Granger is not some sweet, innocent girl. She fought with as much ruthlessness as hardened Aurors during the war." Severus leans in, as if he is about to depart some highly secretive information. "Even before that, at the tender age of sixteen she sent Dolores Umbridge into a herd of angry centaurs without a bit of remorse."

"Yes, I know," drawls Lucius. And Lucius also knows of Hermione's involvement in the permanent disfiguration of the Edgecomb girl. The two incidents top a long list of great and fascinating misdeeds. This hidden cruel streak of Hermione's has come as both a surprise and delight to Lucius. There is hope for the girl yet.

On the other side of the ballroom, Hermione walks away from her friends and goes out to the balcony. Seeing his chance to speak with Hermione alone, Lucius rises.

"Excuse me, Severus."

Like most of the Tuckin Hotel, the balcony is bewitched. Instead of overlooking downtown London, as it should, majestic mountains stretch out into the distance. Hermione is alone on the balcony, staring pensively at the landscape as she fingers the necklace around her neck.

She turns, hearing Lucius's footsteps. Her lips press into a firm, displeased line.

"Mr. Malfoy," she says curtly as she heads back towards the ballroom. "You would have enough nerve to show your face here."

"I hadn't planned on it, Miss Granger," Lucius says airily. "Until I received notification that you had accepted my gift. I was extremely surprised and simply had to see if it was true."

His words stop Hermione dead in her tracks. She turns on her heel to stare at Lucius with bulging eyes.

"Y-your gift?"

"Yes," says Lucius, moving in closer to Hermione. He slowly runs a finger across the necklace. She flinches at his touch. "My gift."

"No!" she cries, shaking her head in denial. "It can't be."

"Of course, it is," says Lucius. "Didn't you recognize the Malfoy crest? It is quite well known."

Lucius lifts his right hand to her so that she can see the large ring adorning his forth finger. Carved on the flat onyx surface is miniature replica of the family seal.

Hermione pales. "But I thought--Oh God!"

'Don't tell me you accepted an obviously charmed gift without knowing for certain who sent it," says Lucius. "That is very foolish and dangerous. And I was told you were a sensible witch."

It is exactly as Lucius has hoped. That she would not have recognized the crest or the purpose of the gift had been a big gamble to take, but it had apparently paid off. The fates, it seems, are with him.

"I didn't mean to accept it!" Hermione says in a choked voice. "My mother-"

She storms off, letting out a series of curses foul enough to make a Knockturn Alley vagrant proud. Halfway, she pauses and turns back to him.

"Why?" she asks, her brown eyes blazing with anger. "Why would you send me an L'Amour Contractuel gift?"

"Oh, so you do know what it is," says Lucius calmly, but with a hint of genuine surprise. "Then you must also know that L'Amour Contractuel generally results in marriage."

"You can't possibly be interested in me like that!"

"No?" asks Lucius, tilting his head. "Why not? You are an intelligent witch. Very respected by the community and pleasant enough to look upon. I dare say any wizard would consider himself lucky to have you by his side."

"While you were standing there listing my virtues, you forgot one! I'm Muggle-born. You might have fought against Voldemort but you made it clear that you still think my kind are nothing but filth mucking up your perfect Pureblood world."

"I cannot deny your…ancestry gave me pause, but in the end I decided it was unimportant."

"How very big of you!"

"Yes, I thought so myself," says Lucius, ignoring her sarcasm. Belatedly, Lucius realizes he is telling some semblance of the truth. A close enough truth. "You may question me under Veritaserum," he adds. "You will find my answers do not change."

"Rather empty offer," snaps Hermione. "Given the difficulty of procuring Veritaserum!"

"Not quite, Miss Granger," says Lucius. "Are we not both acquainted with England's premier Potions maker? I believe I last saw Severus at the bar. Shall we seek his services immediately?"

Hermione doesn't answer. She reaches up to remove the necklace from her neck.

"Take it back!" she says, holding the necklace out to him.

"I'm afraid that is not possible," says Lucius. "You have already accepted the gift. It's yours now."

"It was an accident!"

"That hardly matters. The requirements of L'Amour Contractuel have been satisfied."

Hermione glares at Lucius with such burning hatred he believes he may go up in flames. He smirks as Hermione silently takes a step back, and then another. She is several feet away before she flees entirely, her slippers clicking loudly against the stone floor.

A small smile remains on Lucius' lips. That went better than he had anticipated. He had truly expected her to hex his bollocks off.

xxxxx

Lucius Malfoy!

Hermione still can't believe it.

Lucius – fucking - Malfoy!

God! Why had she assumed the trunk was Theodore's? It must have belonged to Draco.

Her stomach churns with nausea.

Lucius Malfoy!

Hermione doesn't know what kind of game Malfoy is playing, but not for one second does she believe he is actually interested in marrying her. It must be some plot, some perverted, twisted plot to get at her.

But why? Why her?

She has never done anything to him - not personally, anyway. The two met on the battlefields once or twice before Malfoy changed sides. Hermione hexed him with a number of nasty spells, just as he had done to her.

That is war, though. Nothing personal about it.

There must be something else.

Hermione fiddles with the necklace as she paces the circumference of the round couch in the lobby. She wants to throw the necklace away, but does not. Having no pockets in her robes, she has no choice but to put it back on.

Perhaps it isn't her specifically. Perhaps she is merely the means to something bigger. Some great revenge against Muggle-borns.

That's a possibility.

How very enraged Malfoy must be that the status of so many Muggle-borns has been elevated after the war while he, a Pureblood from a very old family, is forced to wallow in the muck and the mire.

If Malfoy wants revenge, it makes sense that he'll go after her. She is probably the best known Muggle-born in the world currently.

He must want to humiliate her or blacken her name. Make some terrible example out of her.

But how can he achieve this through L'Amour Contractuel?

Hermione doesn't know but she needs to find out. She needs to learn everything she can, as soon as she can.

Dismayingly, Hermione realizes that it is very late on a Saturday evening. There will be no bookstores or libraries open for her to do her research.

However, there is the book that Ginny mentioned. That silly romance novel. Hermione doubts she will find much useful or accurate information within its pages but it is all she has at the moment, and she can't idly stand by and do nothing.

Hermione shoves party goers out of her way as she marches into the ballroom. She stops for a moment to look over the crowd in order to ensure she doesn't run into Malfoy. Relieved the bastard is nowhere in sight, she presses forward, finding Ginny wrapped in Neville's arms on the dance floor.

"Ginny," says Hermione, rudely pulling her away from Neville. "I need that book you read. The book with L'Amour Contractuel.

"Why?" asks Ginny. She looks at the necklace around Hermione's neck. "Theodore didn't understand you accepted his gift by accident?"

"No, it's not that." Hermione sighs. She doesn't want to tell Ginny that it is Lucius Malfoy who is her unwanted suitor. Ever since nearly killing her with Tom Riddle's diary, Ginny has hated Lucius Malfoy with as much fervor as she does Voldemort. If told, Ginny will raise such a high stink, everyone will know Malfoy is trying to court her. Many will not believe Hermione hasn't purposely accepted his gift. She can't have that. "Please! Can you go and get it?"

"Right now?"

"Yes, please."

Ginny casts a wistful look in Neville's direction but agrees. "All right. I need to Apparate to the Burrow."

Hermione all but drags Ginny to the Apparation zone. Five minutes later Ginny returns with dog-eared book called Moonlight's Passion by Delilah St. Croix. The image on the cover loops, replaying the same scene as a wizard who looks disturbingly like Sirius Black sensually runs a hand down the nude back of a very wanton, blonde witch. Hermione immediately glamours the cover so that it looks like a respectable treatise on new Transfiguration spells.

She would have preferred a little privacy as she reads the book, but it will arise suspicion if she just disappears. Plus, she can't leave Doris alone with all the talk of the war flying about. Faking an illness may have worked, but Doris is sure to follow Hermione to their suite and fuss over her like a baby. Not that she actually needs to fake anything. Hermione does feel ill, extremely ill.

She goes to the ballroom and joins Doris at their table. That Hermione is reading a book in the middle of a grand ball is not much of a shock to anyone. Everyone dismisses her as being her regular swotty self. Except for Ginny. She watches Hermione with concern and confusion.

Hermione has always been a very fast reader and makes quick work of the book. She endures lengthy, lurid descriptions of "quivering honey pots" and "thick wands of hard Oak" to get to the meat of the matter.

The book contains a great deal of information about L'Amour Contractuel, if it is to be trusted. In addition to what Ginny has told her, Hermione learns that L'Amour Contractuel is usually initiated by wizards who want to pursue a witch who is considered above him in station. The gifts given are always very expensive or rare to entice the witch and her family into acceptance. For the first gift given, the wizard is granted one personal meeting with the witch. Additional gifts are not necessary, but if given and accepted the witch must see the wizard at least once per gift. If the witch refuses to see the wizard, the girl's family will be severely fined.

Most receiving families like the practice because it provides an easy way for them to increase their coffers. In the past, many had their daughters engaged in L'Amour Contractuel with several wizards at the same time, drawing out the courtships even though they had no intention of letting a marriage take place. This occurred well into the late 1600s until new laws were enacted. With the new rules, only one L'Amour Contractuel engagement can be had at a time, and after the tenth gift is given, either party has the option of forcing the other into marriage. Failure to comply results in additional harsh fines, or if one is truly desirous of the marriage, the matter will be settled with a Duel.

L'Amour Contractuel is ended if a gift is given but not accepted. Or it can be ended if more than two fortnights pass without the giving of a gift. Then either party can send the other an official letter of Disengagement.

The Wizarding courtship seems fairly straightforward, thinks Hermione, though a bit like socially acceptable prostitution. For the life of her, Hermione can't understand how Malfoy will get his revenge using it. It isn't as if she'll be foolish enough to accept any more gifts from him.

And there is that clause about needing parental permission. Accepting the gift means nothing without Doris' approval for Malfoy to court her.

Hermione looks over at her mother laughing loudly at something Mr. Weasley is saying. There isn't a snowball's chance in hell that Doris will ever agree to let some grotty old wizard see her. It won't happen in a million years.

Surely Malfoy knows that. So why use L'Amour Contractuel for his schemes?

That is the incredibly baffling question at hand. Perhaps there is more to L'Amour Contractuel than the book divulges. Hermione vows to find out at the first opportunity.

xxxxx

And there's chapter two! Please let me know what you thought! The good and/or bad. Chapter 3 will be up soon. As I said, it all depends on my time constraints. Though a lot of this fic is already written, it is only in it's rough draft state and I have to spend a lot of time making it presentable. 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: Before getting to the story I would like to address something...

Two reviewers have commented that they find this story difficult to read because it is in the present tense. I cannot say I am surprised. The traditional method is to write fiction in the third person and past tense. I knew that in moving away from this norm I would lose part of my potential readership and that many people dislike present tense fics because they find them awkward. I have always enjoyed present tense fics myself and actually, rarely even notice the tenses. But I do understand why someone might feel differently. I have problems reading first person fics and generally avoid them no matter how well they are written.

To those who are terribly bothered by the present tense all I can really say is that I'm sorry but it's not going to change. This is obviously not the fic for you. The fic will be in the present tense from beginning to end. Writing in the present tense is much more difficult than writing in the past tense and that is partly why I wanted to try it. I use this story as something of a learning experiment. I admit that I am very much a novice at writing in the present tense and I have no doubts that I do it incorrectly in some places. But, it is all part of the learning process and with the help of my betas and the wonderful con crit some of you have given me I like to think that I get better every day.

Thank you to all of you who continue read my story. I really do appreciate it. And to all of you who can read no further, thank you as well for at least taking a chance on it, even if you ultimately did not like it. Perhaps some of my future L/Hr endeavors will be more to your taste, as they will be written in a more traditional fashion.

Anyway, I am sorry it took me so long to post this. I meant to have it up more than a week ago but then I got a very bad toothache and I couldn't concentrate on anything for too long.

Thanks again to Adie for helping with this fic!

xxxxx

The drive from London to Cornwall is a long one and it is well into the evening when Hermione and her mother return to their century old farmhouse on the outskirts of Truro. That Hermione is once again living at her Muggle home after leaving Hogwarts isn't much of an accident. It is the result of some carefully crafted manipulation.

Originally, Hermione only intended to stay a week around the Easter holidays. When Hermione first tried to leave, Doris looked at her with sad, doe-like eyes and she agreed to stay another week. One week turned into two, and now, months later, she is still there.

Hermione supposes it has worked out for the best. Previously, she had been living at Grimmauld Place and was beginning to feel like a nuisance. Most of the fighting had tapered off by then and the house was no longer swarming with members of the Order. It had just been Harry and Remus...and her. They never made her feel unwelcome but things had become awkward from time to time.

And Hermione can't deny that it is something of a comfort to be back in the place of her childhood.

Here, there is no Voldemort.

No Death Eaters.

No reminders of the dark days of the past.

Here, she is not some filthy Mudblood usurper. Nor is she the great heroine who stood by Harry Potter's side as he brought down one of the most terrifying wizards the world has ever known.

She is only Hermione, the daughter of the local dentist. For a while, she can pretend she is a perfectly normal girl who hasn't seen horrors beyond her years.

After not getting a wink of sleep the night before, all Hermione wants to do is crawl into her bed and surrender to sweet slumber. Unfortunately, that is not possible. She has another long night ahead of her; a long night of pouring over books in search of information about L'Amour Contractuel.

As she unwinds from the trip, Doris continues to speak animatedly about all the wondrous things she has seen at the Tuckin Hotel and how much fun she has had.

"Though, this certainly wasn't a highlight," Doris says, tapping the scar on her cheek.

Blast!

In her dismay over Malfoy and his courtship, Hermione has forgotten to confront the hotel's management.

Well, they'll get a letter - a long, harshly worded letter.

No, a Howler!

And she'll get Mrs. Weasley to do it. Mrs. Weasley's Howlers are infamous. The Tuckin Hotel will never recover.

After seeing her mother in for the night, Hermione Apparates to the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley is more than happy to help and promises to do her worst. Hermione then continues on to Hogsmeade, arriving at the long road that leads to Hogwarts.

As always, Hermione feels an incredible sense of loss when the school comes into view. Huge, gaping holes and piles of crumbling stone lay where classrooms or dormitories once were. Hogwarts had nearly been destroyed in one of the final battles. Professor Dumbledore lost his life trying to protect the school and there are rumors that he haunts the place, although Hermione has never seen him.

Professor McGonagall will be the new Headmistress. Most of the old professors live there in order to oversee the reconstruction efforts and they hope to have Hogwarts running again in a year. In the meanwhile, all of Britain's students attend Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, or one of Europe's smaller Wizarding schools.

Hogwarts is officially closed, but Hermione is a frequent visitor as Professor McGonagall is her employer and the heavy wards are keyed to allow her entrance. There will be quite a few changes in the school's curriculum when it reopens, including making Muggle Studies a required class for all students who are unfamiliar with the Muggle world.

Professor McGonagall believes ignorance breeds intolerance, and that if wizards are introduced to Muggle culture in a positive way then it may reduce some of the bigoted attitudes that helped a man like Voldemort rise to power.

Hermione agrees wholeheartedly. Not only that, but the Wizarding world's knowledge of Muggles borders on pathetic. Even Mr. Weasley, a man who loves Muggles and whose job requires him to work with their devices, knows so very little about them. She remembers him finding a small Muggle lampshade a few months ago. He wore it on his head for days, thinking it was a hat.

Professor McGonagall plans to do a complete rewrite of the Muggle Studies textbooks, most of which are very out-dated. She has hired Hermione and Dean Thomas to research the Muggle world for her. The pay is really quite pitiful but Hermione enjoys her work. She feels like she is doing something for the betterment of the Wizarding world.

The job is only temporary and Hermione isn't sure what she'll do when it's over. Perhaps something with SPEW. The war and its aftermath has forced her to halt her campaign but she fully intends to start it again. Although, how house-elf liberation translates into a job with an income is something Hermione hasn't worked out yet.

The library at Hogwarts is located deep within the castle and is one of the few places that hasn't been damaged from the war. It looks very much as it had while Hermione was a student.

She goes to the Wizarding customs section and pursues the titles. Pulling out her wand, she performs a simple spell she created herself in her seventh year. It is a variation of the Summoning Charm that will cause all the books with the words 'L'Amour Contractuel' in them to come to her.

Three books float from the bookshelf and Hermione eagerly carries them to a nearby table.

Unfortunately, the first two are entirely in French, and Hermione, having only a rudimentary grasp on the language, finds them utterly useless. In the third, however, a thick, modern tome titled: Love and Marriage in the Wizarding World, she finds a wealth of information.

An entire chapter is devoted to L'Amour Contractuel and she reads over the passages most carefully, seeking out any loophole or clause that Malfoy can use against her.

There are none.

L'Amour Contractuel really is as simple as it seems to be. At first glance, anyway.

But that makes no sense. How can Malfoy harm her through an old Wizarding courtship?

He can't.

Perhaps he truly does want to marry her.

Hermione snorts with near hysterical laughter, feeling foolish for even considering it. 

She returns the books to the shelf with a dejected sigh. She isn't afraid of Malfoy, but neither is she dim enough to utterly dismiss him.

He wants something from her - certainly not marriage, that is preposterous - but something. Discovering Malfoy's true agenda is imperative. It is not knowing that bothers Hermione the most.

However, there is someone who may know - someone who lives within these very walls.

Hermione practically runs to the dungeons. She raps loudly on Professor Snape's door until he opens it just wide enough to poke his long nose through the crack.

Snape sneers down at her.

"Why are you bothering me at this late hour?" he asks, without any other introduction.

"Excuse me, sir," says Hermione. She cringes at how timid her voice sounds. Snape still manages to intimidate her. "I wanted to speak with you…about Lucius Malfoy."

Snape's eyes shift back and forth as if he is expecting someone to be spying on them. After a long pause, he pulls the door open so Hermione can enter.

His chambers are a surprise. For a man who takes no care of his personal appearance, his rooms are a completely different matter. Not a speck of dust can be seen. Everything is carefully and neatly arranged with obsessive precision. 

Snape lowers himself into an uncomfortable looking wooden chair but does not offer Hermione a seat.

"Well?" he snaps. "Get on with it, girl."

Hermione wrings her hands as she stands before him. She isn't sure where to begin.

"He - Malfoy, that is - has initiated L'Amour Contractuel with me." Hermione pauses. "Erm, do you know what that is?"

"I know enough. And I also know you accepted his gift." Snape looks at Hermione with derision. "Why would you do such a stupid thing?"

"He tricked me!"

Snape chuckles, although it is devoid of any amusement. "Probably so. What does any of this have to do with me?"

"Well," begins Hermione, "You have to admit it's an exceedingly odd thing to do. You're the only person I know who is very familiar with Lucius Malfoy. I had hoped you might know-"

"I could not as so much as hazard a guess at Lucius' motivations," interrupts Snape. "I am as baffled as you. He is the last of the Malfoys, and it is not terribly surprising that he would want to remarry and continue the line. But with you?" He gives Hermione a slow and thorough appraisal, from the top of her head to the tips of her shoes. Hermione feels a blush creep onto her cheeks. From the expression on his face, Snape finds something decidedly lacking. "Frankly, you are hardly his type; even if we were to ignore the fact that you are Muggle-born."

Hermione ignores the insult - there are more pressing matters at hand. "So why would he do it?"

"Confounding, isn't it?" asks Snape, his eyes wide. "One thing is certain, Miss Granger. For one reason or another, Lucius has set his sights on you. It may be worth your life to find out why." Snape smirks. "Quite literally. Lucius is not a man to be toyed with."

And with that dire warning, Snape motions towards his door. "If that will be all."

xxxxx

Little Red Books, in Diagon Alley, is the publishing house that will be printing the new Muggle Studies textbooks when they are finished. The company has graciously provided a room within their headquarters for Hermione and Dean.

On Monday morning, before going to her shared office, Hermione makes a detour to see Eugenia Blackstone, one of the company editors.

Eugenia is an tiny, frail lady who is never without her paisley-patterned robes in shocking shades of pink. She has a warm, grandmotherly manner and it seems more fitting to go to her for milk and cookies rather than legal advice.

However, Eugenia has a sharp mind and has written several books on Wizarding laws and customs. She is a renowned expert in the area. If L'Amour Contractuel can be used as anything other than an avenue to marriage, Eugenia will know.

Hermione politely makes small talk with Eugenia as they share a morning cuppa. She feels a little melancholy when Eugenia discusses her latest litter of pet kneazles. Eugenia breeds them in her spare time and constantly tries to force a kitten on her. Hermione has lost Crookshanks to old age but isn't ready to replace him yet.

"I actually came to you with a few questions," Hermione says when there is a lull in the conversation. "About L'Amour Contractuel."

"L'Amour Contractuel?" repeats Eugenia. "Why would you want to know about that? It's simply not done anymore."

"So I've heard," says Hermione. "But, hypothetically speaking, of course, let's say a man initiated L'Amour Contractuel with a woman he wasn't actually interested in marrying. A woman he knows has no desire to marry him."

"Hypothetically?" asks Eugenia. Her shrewd eyes narrow on Hermione. "Oh, dearie. What have you got yourself into?"

"It's not about me," insists Hermione.

Eugenia does not look convinced but says, "Well, there'd really be no point of it in your hypothetical situation. If the woman involved did not wish to be courted, she would merely return the gift and it would end there. Are you sure the man is not interested in marriage?"

"Quite," says Hermione. "In spite of that, the man tricked the woman into accepting his gift."

"And have the parents of the witch given permission? That condition still stands. When L'Amour Contractuel was first developed, unmarried children were more or less considered their parents' property."

"The man hasn't sought consent yet but it will undoubtedly be refused."

"Does he know this?" asks Eugenia.

"He should."

"Hmmm," says Eugenia. A small frown crinkles her already wrinkled forehead. "This is a very bizarre scenario you've presented."

"Don't I know it," says Hermione. "Is there anything the man might gain by L'Amour Contractuel? Can he use it to seek revenge or hurt the woman?"

"There is only one thing I can think of," says Eugenia. "And this only applies if parental approval is given. Without that, the woman's acceptance of the gift is irrelevant. Though, if the man is willing to go as far as to trick you - excuse me, the witch in question - into accepting his gift then it follows he might try to use some sort of trickery to attain consent. If he succeeds in obtaining it and the woman refuses to see him at least once then the witch and her family are fined. Heavily. Today it would amount to over ten thousand Galleons. Nearly all of this of this money goes to the suitor. A down on his luck wizard might try to use L'Amour Contractuel to exhort money from a wealthy family."

Hermione mulls over it. Malfoy has lost his entire fortune to the Ministry. Is this his way of regaining some of his wealth? Ten thousand Galleons seems like a trifle compared to what she has heard about the legendary Malfoy fortune but she supposes Malfoy has to start somewhere.

"But we're not wealthy," says Hermione, giving up the pretense. "It'd take years for me to pay that off."

"Yes," says Eugenia, smiling kindly at Hermione. "And the fine is so easily avoided. Are you absolutely positive this man doesn't wish to court you? Because, honestly, in this day and age he has no reason to initiate L'Amour Contractuel otherwise."

"He doesn't," says Hermione, weakly.

The talk with Eugenia merely manages to plunge Hermione deeper into the depths of confusion.

Were it anyone other than Malfoy, Hermione may have thought it a sincere, albeit misguided, attempt to court her.

It simply isn't possible with Lucius Malfoy. His hatred of Muggle-borns is legendary. He'll sooner kill her than marry her.

Then why initiate L'Amour Contractuel? Especially when it won't proceed any further?

Hermione will make sure of that. When she returns home from work, Hermione sits down with her mother and explains the business with L'Amour Contractuel. 

"The suitor is a nasty old man, Mum," says Hermione. "His name is Lucius Malfoy. I don't know what he wants from me but when he asks if he can court me, you must say no. It is vitally important that you deny his request."

Doris thinks needing her permission is hopelessly old-fashioned but nods with determination. "Of course, I'll say no. Whatever you want, darling."

Hermione secretly places a spell on Doris that will alert her if a witch or wizard tries to contact her mother in any way. It's not that she doesn't trust Doris to refuse Malfoy's request but Eugenia is right. Malfoy may try to trick Doris into giving him approval.

A false alarm occurs the very next morning when Doris receives a letter from the Tuckin Hotel full of blathering apologies and a voucher for a free stay. Also included is a balm that instantly vanishes the scar on Doris' cheek.

Days pass and not a word from Malfoy.

According to the rules of L'Amour Contractuel, permission has to be sought within a week of the gift's acceptance.

By Friday, Hermione is beginning to think it really is some sort of joke. The necklace, however, nags at her. It is an incredibly expensive gift. One that Malfoy can't possibly afford given what she knows of his current financial state.

No, he cannot afford it, not if it is real. The necklace must be some two Sickle trinket he picked up in Knockturn Alley. 

Further evidence, as far as Hermione is concerned, that it is all a big gag.

Lucius Malfoy doesn't seem like a jocular type of man but what does she know of him?

Perhaps he gets his jollies by scaring young women into thinking he wants to marry them.

xxxxx

Friday evenings are always spent with Harry and Ron at a trendy pub called Sally's that is located on Old Compton Street. Surprisingly, Soho is nearly devoid of Wizarding folk and it is for that very reason the place has been chosen.

For a few hours every week, the three of them can get together in public without anyone looking at them like they are God's answer to their every problem. The place is abuzz with Muggles in expensive designer clothing, all trying to 'see and be seen'. Hermione, Ron, and Harry are deemed insignificant in their casual appearance and ignored. In the crowd, they all but disappear.

By mutual agreement any mention of Voldemort or the war is strictly off limits. Instead, they imbibe a little alcohol, play a little darts and bring the others up to date with their latest situations. 

Hermione wants to tell Harry and Ron about the problem with Malfoy but stays her tongue. Telling them can possibly make things worse. They'll explode, naturally, and go after Malfoy with a vengeance. Not that she is concerned for Malfoy's welfare but she cannot let her friends get in trouble. Technically, Malfoy has done nothing wrong. And while an attack on him will likely only earn them a slap on the wrist, Hermione is not willing to take the risk.

And it isn't as if they'll be able to offer any additional insight. She loves her friends dearly but they can be quite dense at times. If even Snape is mystified by Malfoy's actions, she'll get nothing from them at all.

Besides, Malfoy's joke will end tomorrow, and if it isn't a joke and he tries something else, Hermione will be ready for him. If necessary, she'll involve Harry and Ron then.

Hermione rubs a hand over the silver bracelet around her wrist. She has charmed it to give her a little tickle if Doris is contacted by a magical person. It hasn't gone off since Tuesday morning.

Maybe Malfoy isn't going to even bother asking Doris, realizing the futility of it.

The scenario is looking more and more likely as the night progresses.

Hermione tries to pay attention to Harry, who is discussing the latest developments in his attempts to become an Animagus so he can trod about with Remus during the full moon.

"I think I am going to be something big," Harry says as he extends his hands out wide. "I feel myself wanting to expand."

"Maybe you'll be stag like your dad," says Ron.

"Could be," says Harry, nodding. "I read that most wizards tend to have the same animal as a Patronus and Animagus form. Isn't that right, Hermione?"

"What?" Hermione asks distractedly. "Oh, yes. Yes, they do."

Harry tilts his head. "What's wrong, Hermione? I've been talking about being an illegal Animagus for the last twenty minutes and not once have you scolded me for doing something so complicated and dangerous without proper Ministry supervision."

"Yeah!" Ron pips in with suspicion. "That's not like you!"

"It's nothing. I just-"

A tickle!

"Damn!" Hermione exclaims, leaping to her feet. "I've got to go!"

"Wait!" calls Harry as Hermione runs from their table.

It is a full ten minutes before Hermione can find a secluded place free of Muggles. She is in a near panic by the time she Apparates to Cornwall, nearly splinching herself in the process. Ten minutes is such a long time. Anything may have happened by then. Malfoy may have already Imperio-ed Doris into giving him whatever he wants.

Doris yelps when Hermione lands in the parlor with an ear-piercing crack. She raises a trembling hand to her chest and says, "What I have told you about doing that in front of me?"

Although Doris has got used to most of the strangeness that goes along with having a witch for a daughter, seeing Hermione appear and disappear right before her very eyes is something that never fails to spook her.

"Where is he, Mum?" asks Hermione, her wand at the ready. "Where's Malfoy?"

"How am I supposed to know?" asks Doris. She picks up a folded piece of parchment off the coffee table. "This just arrived by owl."

Hermione snatches the letter from Doris. As she suspects, it is from Malfoy. The missive is short and to the point, announcing his intention to call on Doris tomorrow afternoon to ask for permission to court Hermione.

"Just like him to wait to the very last minute!" snarls Hermione. "Remember, Mum. Whatever he asks, you must tell him no."

Doris tiredly rubs at her temples. "I know. I know."

The next day, Doris flutters around the house, frantically cleaning everything she can.

"For God's sake!" exclaims Hermione. "We're not getting a visit from the bloody Queen! Just some old, perverted bast-" 

"Language!" admonishes Doris, as she runs a vacuum over the rug in the parlor for the third time that day. "Aren't you going to get ready? He's bound to arrive soon."

Hermione looks down at herself, finding absolutely nothing wrong with the old pair of jeans and t-shirt she is wearing. "I am ready."

Doris' sharp look of disapproval sends Hermione straight to her bedroom.

She grudgingly changes into a plain brown skirt and white blouse. As she is standing before the mirror in her bedroom, pulling her hair back with a golden clip, Hermione notices that her chin has got a bit spotty, perhaps from the vast amount of sweets she has eaten all week to console herself.

Hermione goes to retrieve the bottle of bubotubor pus she kept for such occasions. She pauses just as her fingers graze the small vial.

Pretty herself up for Malfoy? Like hell, she will!

Instead, Hermione rubs vigorously at her chin, causing the bumps to become red and irritated.

Much better, she thinks, as she childishly stomps down the stairs.

Doris is now in the kitchen, carefully arranging an assortment of biscuits on the fancy, gold-trimmed platter she only brings out for important guests.

"What kind of tea do you think he'd prefer?" she asks.

"Who cares," says Hermione. "He won't be staying for tea."

"Oh, Hermione," Doris says with exasperation. "He's coming all this way. At the very least we can be polite and offer the man a little refreshment for his trouble."

At exactly three o'clock a soft pop sounds from the outside, indicating that someone has Apparated to their home.

"There he is, Mum!" Hermione says, feeling a lurch in her stomach. "Now, let's go over it one more time. When he-"

"I know what I'm supposed to do!" Doris snaps. "You've told me twenty times already."

"Sheesh! Just making sure," says Hermione, unrepentantly.

Hermione opens the front door just as Malfoy is raising a hand to knock. She is momentarily taken back by his appearance.

Lucius Malfoy...looking every bit the Muggle.

Hell has truly frozen over, thinks Hermione.

Most of the times she has seen Purebloods trying to dress as Muggles the results have been bizarre and ridiculous. Malfoy, however, got it right. He wears dark gray trousers with a matching jacket over a crisp, white shirt, all of it finely tailored and obviously expensive.

He is better dressed than most Muggles.

For reasons Hermione can't begin to explain, even to herself, this annoys her immensely.

"Hermione," he says with a cordial smile. "It is a pleasure."

"I don't recall inviting you to address me with such familiarity, Mr. Malfoy," says Hermione, frowning.

To her frustration, his smile broadens.

She steps aside so Malfoy can enter. "Let's get this charade over with."

Hermione keeps a wary eye on Malfoy as she leads him to the parlor where Doris awaits.

"Mum," begins Hermione. "This is-"

"You!" exclaims Doris, her eyes wide with recognition.

When has her mother met Lucius Malfoy, Hermione wonders with confusion.

Oh, yes!

In the summer before her second year, when Malfoy and Mr. Weasley got into that scuffle at Flourish and Botts.

Well, that will speed things along nicely. Doris loves the Weasleys. She will remember how Malfoy treated them and tell Malfoy no, he most definitely cannot court her daughter and then show him the door. This sordid business will be over in less than five minutes.

Hermione's dreams shatter when Doris turns to her and grins.

"Hermione," she says. "This is the man that saved me at the hotel."

"What?" shrieks Hermione. Her eyes narrow accusingly on Malfoy. "Why would you do that? She's a Muggle."

"I saw a lady in need of help and I was there to provide it." Malfoy gives a nonchalant shrug as if he came to the aid of Muggles every day. "Simple enough."

"Come in, come in," coos Doris, holding a hand out to Malfoy. "Have a seat. I had no idea you were the man interested in my Hermione. From the way she spoke, I was expecting the very Devil himself."

Malfoys laughs lightheartedly. "I've been called far worse."

Hermione gingerly sits next to Doris. This is not going the way she has planned, not at all.

"Don't you have something you want to ask my mother?" asks Hermione, interrupting Doris as she is about to offer Malfoy tea.

"Let's not be rude," Doris gently chides as she passes a cup to Malfoy.

Oh, how it burns Hermione to see Malfoy sitting there, in her father's favorite chair, conversing with Doris as if she is the most important person in the world. She takes solace in the knowledge that it must be killing Malfoy to be so polite to a Muggle. She wonders if he will bathe after his visit, to rid himself of their Muggle filth.

But for now Malfoy is the gracious guest. He betrays nothing that may indicate his true feelings for Muggles. He compliments Doris on her home and asks about her career.

"I do make a good living," says Doris. "Though I'd be out of business in a second if people took just a few minutes every day to brush. It's really quite scandalous the way some don't look after their teeth." Doris leans in to examine Malfoy's mouth. "Now you've got a very good set of teeth."

Malfoy beams, showing off his pearly whites. "Thank you. I use a magical chew. It's an old family recipe."

"Fascinating," says Doris, then veers off into a long and detailed history of Muggle dentistry.

Malfoy nods when appropriate, giving every impression of rapt interest.

Hermione stifles a snort. Like he gives a rat's arse. But if Malfoy wants to bore himself to death with a discussion about tooth decay, let him suffer. He doesn't know what he is in for. Doris can talk for hours.

And it certainly feels like she does. Hermione's mind wanders as Doris drones on. She sips at her now tepid tea, keeping a close watch on Malfoy's left arm. She can see the tip of his wand poking through the cuff of his jacket. If he makes a move for it, Hermione will be ready.

More than an hour passes before the conversation turns to the purpose of the visit.

Malfoy sets his cup down. He leans in to Doris, looking at her with earnest eyes. "Doris, as you know from my letter, I am here to ask you for permission to court your daughter."

Hermione perks up. This is it.

"I know this must be so very odd to you," continues Malfoy. "But it is simply how things are done in my world. Over these past weeks, I have found myself utterly besotted by your daughter."

"That's a bloody lie!"

"Hermione!" Doris exclaims in a warning tone.

"Oh, you mustn't blame her," says Malfoy, his voice fraught with emotion, "I'm afraid I have given Hermione much cause to loathe me in the past. She has every right to doubt my intentions. That is why I initiated L'Amour Contractuel. It is a very serious Wizarding courtship and not embarked on lightly. It was the only way I thought I could make her believe I am sincere."

Hermione snickers. "Sincere, my arse! Do you really think we are going to fall for this drivel?"

Doris glares at Hermione then gives Malfoy an encouraging pat on the hand. "Do go on, Lucius, please continue."

"Yes, please. Do go on. Let's hear what else comes out of your lying mouth!"

"I am warning you, Hermione! If you are rude to our guest one more time…"

"Don't, Doris," says Malfoy. "I have earned every bit of her contempt."

"I doubt that!" huffs Doris.

Protest is on the tip of Hermione's tongue but she finds herself dry-mouthed and unable to speak. The color drains from her face as Doris and Lucius chatter.

So certain, she has been, that Malfoy will try to use magic to coerce her mother.

No…

He doesn't need magic at all. He already has Doris completely bewitched, under a spell of a different sort, but one just as powerful.

"I am not so deluded to think Hermione will ever feel for me as I feel for her," Malfoy is saying to a enraptured Doris. "It is my only desire that Hermione should get to know me through L'Amour Contractuel. I want the chance to show her I am not the man she thinks I am." Malfoy turns his gaze to Hermione, looking enamored yet forlorn. "It is a great torment to know the woman I feel so deeply for detests me so. I know nothing would ever truly come of any attempt to court her but I had hoped to gain her respect, and if I should be so fortunate, her friendship. That will not be possible without you, Doris. If you tell me I cannot see your daughter I will leave immediately and not bother either of you ever again."

God, he is good, but it doesn't matter. Malfoy can charm her mother all day long if he wants. Doris knows how important it is to refuse him. Hermione has pounded it into her every day. She will never betray her daughter.

She won't.

She can't.

She does.

"Of course, you can see her," said Doris, "I'm sure what ever misunderstanding occurred between you two can be worked out in no time at all."

Desperately, Hermione wants to believe she has misheard, but the smug triumph shining in Malfoy's eyes is too great to ignore. 

Hermione is still and silent, willing herself not to erupt, not scream at her mother. She cannot, not in front of Malfoy. A cold, shivery sensation courses through her veins, numbing her as she dazedly listens to Malfoy gush his most heartfelt thanks.

How very quickly Malfoy makes his leave after that, now that he has obtained what he wants.

Doris sees him out, with invitations for him to call on them again soon.

"Well, he was a nice, young man," she says when she returns, oblivious to her shell-shocked daughter.

"He's not, Mum," Hermione says in a rough whisper. She lets out a harsh, ragged breath that feels like it is ripping her chest apart. "He not nice, nor is he young. He's older than you are."

"Is he?" Doris says with amazement. "He didn't look it."

"That's hardly the bloody point!" screams Hermione. "Why did you say he can see me? You were supposed to say no!"

"Oh, sweetie," Doris begins contritely. "He was so very taken with you and I didn't want to break his heart. You don't have to see him if you don't want to."

"Yes, I do, Mum! You knew! I told you so many times!"

Several seconds pass before Doris answers. In a small voice, she says, "I forgot. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Sorry does me a fat lot of good!"

Heavy tears, blackened by mascara, roll down Doris' face.

Guilt instantly cuts through Hermione. She has never made Doris cry before.

No, Hermione thinks doggedly. She will not let her mother's waterworks move her.

Without another word, Hermione turns on her heel and runs to her room. There, she sits on her bed, determined not to cry. Vision blurred, her eyes travel to the large photo of Reginald Granger resting on the stand next to her bed. A plump, ruddy face topped by a thick thatch of strawberry blond hair grins out at her.

Hermione cradles the picture in her arms, wishing her father were still alive. He would have seen right through Malfoy. He would have never agreed to let him court her. 

She wipes away the wetness from her eyes. She can't dwell on what would have been. Now is not the time for weeping but the time for thinking.

As she is returning the photo to its place, Hermione can hear Doris' soft footfalls drawing near.

Hermione can't bear to look upon her mother just yet. She pulls out her wand and Disapparates.

xxxxx

And there is chapter three. Let me know if you enjoyed it. Let me know if you didn't. As always, con crit is welcome and appreciated.

I have to have dental surgery on Wednesday and I will start working on getting chapter 4 up after I have healed from that. 


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Notes: Yes, this is late. I won't insult you all by giving you a bunch of pathetic excuses.

Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed so far. I appreciate it more than you can know.

Also, I would just like to say my AN in chapter 3 was not meant to dissuade anyone from giving me concrit about my use of present tense. I only wanted to warn you all that the story will continue to be in the present tense.

As always, thanks to Adie for her help!

xxxxx

Hermione isn't sure why she has Apparated to Grimmauld Place. It has changed very little over the years and the ever present doom and gloom doesn't help her dark mood one bit.

Only Remus is at home. He sits behind a large, mahogany desk in the study as he reads from a thick, weathered book that looks as though it will fall apart at any moment.

Hermione is still unsure of how to act around him. She will always think of him as her old Defense professor and the fact that he is now in a relationship with one of her best friends hasn't changed that one bit. She has only recently felt comfortable enough to use his first name.

"Hermione," he says, looking up with a friendly smile. "Good to see you again. I'm afraid Harry isn't here. He and Ron went to attend a special seminar at the academy today, but he should return soon." 

Both Ron and Harry are training to become Aurors. They have tried to pressure Hermione into doing the same but she has had enough encounters with Dark wizards to last a lifetime. Her friends, on the other hand, still find great thrills in the hunt.

"That's all right," says Hermione. "I really didn't come to see him specifically. I just needed to get away. Mind if I stay for awhile?"

"Certainly not. You know you're always welcome." Remus jumps to his feet and walks towards Hermione, carrying the large book with him. "In fact, I'm glad you came. I found this in Diagon Alley this morning and thought of you. It's one of Wenlock's first texts on Arithmancy."

Hermione makes a distracted noise of polite interest as she takes the proffered book.

"Is something troubling you?" Remus asks, when Hermione doesn't display the expected enthusiasm.

"No" is on the tip of her tongue but what comes out instead is a low, miserable groan.

"Lucius Malfoy has engaged me in L'Amour Contractuel," she says in rush.

"He's done what?" asks Remus, concern and confusion wrinkling his forehead.

Hermione takes a deep breath, and for the next several minutes, horrifies Remus with the story of Malfoy's blasted courtship.

"And your mother still gave him permission?" Remus asks when she is finished. "Even while knowing how much you were against it?"

"She didn't even hesitate," says Hermione, her misery quickly transforming into anger, most of it directed towards herself. "And I just sat there like a bloody bump on a log! I should have spoken out!"

"I'm not sure that it would have made a difference," says Remus, his face grave. "Hermione, I've only met your mother a few times and I'll admit that I don't know her well, however, it has always been clear that she loves you very much. I find it difficult to believe that she would so easily go against your wishes."

"You don't understand, Remus. Malfoy is her ruddy knight in shining armor! He has her tightly wound around his little finger."

"Even so, you said she didn't hesitate. I would think she would have shown at least a little bit of reluctance if she was acting on her own free will."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't want to alarm you but I think there is a very real possibility that Malfoy has your mother under Imperius."

Rather than being alarm, Hermione shamefully clings to the idea. As horrible as it is to think of her mother being under Malfoy's control, an overwhelming part of her finds it preferable to believing that Doris has betrayed her.

"Malfoy spent an unknown amount of time with her at the Tuckin," says Hermione, nodding. "He could have done anything to her then."

"We'll find out," assures Remus. "A sneakoscope is the most basic but best detector of the curse as those under Imperius are automatically deemed untrustworthy." Remus goes to the large desk and rummages through its drawers. A minute later, he produces a highly sensitive sneakoscope. "I can perform the counter spell myself but it would be best to have Tonks come along as a witness. As an Auror, her testimony will have a great deal of clout at the Ministry. We probably can't prove that it was Malfoy who performed the curse so he will likely go unpunished. However, the law states that any contracts made by a person under Imperius can be made null and void. You can petition the Ministry to dismiss the courtship without there being any negative consequences."

As Remus speaks, Hermione comes to a difficult decision. The idea fills her with revulsion, but she knows what she must do. Sighing with resignation, she says, "It won't be necessary to involve Tonks. I am going on this date, or whatever it is with Malfoy, regardless."

Remus opens his mouth to protest but Hermione raises a quelling hand.

"I've thought about it. I figure if I spend some time with Malfoy I might be able to sort out what he is really after."

"That's preposterous!" exclaims Remus. "There's no need to put yourself in harm's way. If it turns out that your mother was acting freely then Harry and I will give you the money to pay the fine. You'll be free of Malfoy's attentions by Monday." 

"But I won't be," says Hermione. "We both know that Malfoy hasn't engaged me in L'Amour Contractuel because he wants to court me. He'll just try something else to get whatever it is he is after."

"Hermione-"

"No, Remus," Hermione says determinedly. "I've decided. And please don't tell Harry. He'll try to stop me and I need to do this."

"You don't!" insists Remus. "Please, Hermione. Reconsider."

"It's the only way," she says, shaking her head. "Promise me that you won't tell Harry." "I won't breath a word of it," Remus says reluctantly, after a long, pensive pause.

Both grow silent as they collect the sneakoscope and prepare to Apparate to Cornwall. Neither notices the figure of Harry Potter moving away from the doorway of the study.

Or the dark, murderous look on his face.

xxxxx

Lucius has come to abhor Saturday nights. It is on these evenings he is most aware of what his life has become. 

A lifetime ago, Saturday nights meant excitement. It meant lavish parties with all the best families in attendance. It meant meetings in secret, with like-minded cohorts, where the Darkest of magics was explored and celebrated.

It meant long, glorious hours entwined in Narcissa's arms.

He hadn't loved her, but Narcissa had been a good wife and an exceptional lover. She always knew exactly what Lucius wanted and how to give it to him. He never had reason to stray.

Lucius misses her at times, when he thinks of her. He makes it a point not to do so.

These days, Saturday nights mean boredom. It means idle wandering around his huge, empty manor. It means evenings alone in his study, with only a bottle of Firewhiskey to keep him company.

Tonight is like most Saturdays. However, an unusual air of celebration surrounds Lucius this evening as he sits placidly in his private study. On the table beside him is a near empty bottle of Ogden's Best.

A pleased smile rests on his face as he empties the bottle into a finely cut, crystal glass.

Everything is going exactly as planned. The fool Muggle had been putty in his hands. But then, he has taken great pains to ensure Doris Granger's compliance.

And Hermione…

Well...to say she loathes him is a vast understatement. Her hatred for him is nearly tangible. A wiser man may have given up already but Lucius will never admit defeat.

He'll have her and have her willingly.

There are many ways he can force the reluctant Miss Granger to want him.

Love potions are easy to come by, if you know the right people. And Lucius certainly does.

Imperius is an option. Lucius has carefully honed his skills at that. He is adept at all the variations of the curse, including a little-known, extremely complicated version which is completely undetectable. Imperius cannot make Hermione love him, but it can certainly give the pretense of it.

While a false outward appearance of love is more than adequate for his needs, Lucius does not wish to employ any those methods. When he and Hermione become man and wife it will be because she truly desires it. She may hate him now, but in the not so distant future she'll want him, love him, with all her being. Winning her over will be a difficult and time-consuming challenge but it will make his ultimate victory all that much sweeter.

A small knock sounds against the heavy oak door of the study.

Lucius raises an annoyed eyebrow at the door, wondering which house-elf is foolish enough to disturb his peace.

"You may enter…this had better be important," Lucius adds menacingly, though he knows it will be. His elves are a highly-trained and disciplined lot. They know better than to bother him unless it of the utmost significance.

A small, timid female elf in a tattered tea towel steps through. She wrings her hands as she says, "Popsy is sorry to be disturbing Master, but we is having an intruder approaching the west gardens."

"The west gardens, you say?" Lucius asks.

His home and the surrounding grounds are heavily warded against trespassers, be they Muggle or wizard. Numerous obstacles and deadly traps await those unwanted visitors who try to bypass the wards. The west gardens lie extremely close to the house proper. Only a very powerful wizard can get that far and survive.

Lucius does not trouble himself with an investigation. He knows exactly who his guest is and why he is here. In all honesty, he has been expecting this visit for some time.

"Go fetch the boy, Popsy."

Five minutes later, a dirty and bleeding Harry Potter thunders inside the study.

"Malfoy!" spits Potter, his face red with anger. "You mother fucking bastard!"

Lucius remains seated as he peers into the amber liquor swirling in his glass. Blandly, he says, " Good evening, Mr. Potter. And what have I done to be so honored with your presence?"

"You know why I'm here."

"I do?" asks Lucius, bemused.

Potter steps forward so that he only inches from Lucius. "This amour thing you've started with Hermione - it ends tonight! If you go near her again, I'll-"

Lucius chuckles lightly. "You'll what? Have me arrested? I've done nothing illegal. L'Amour Contractuel is recognized and upheld by all Wizarding communities. In fact, it is you who will be arrested, if you choose to interfere."

"Oh no, Malfoy," Potter says gravely. "I will kill you." He nods for added emphasis. "I will kill you without magic, with my bare hands, and I will relish every moment of it."

Potter appears to be nothing of merit. Just an average, awkward teenaged boy with no presense, no charisma. There is nothing truly remarkable about him except the magical scar gracing his forehead. Often, Lucius wonders how such a person can be powerful enough to have defeated a great wizard like the Dark Lord.

At this moment, with Potter's green eyes sparking with rage and uncontrolled magic, Lucius knows.

Something trickles down his spine. Something others may have recognized as fear but Lucius will never at admit it as such.

He takes a slow, deliberate sip from his glass. "Is my death worth a trip to Azkaban? Or has the great Harry Potter become so revered that he can murder innocent persons without consequence?"

"Innocent persons?" Potter laughs almost manically. "Do you really think anyone would give a damn? You're nothing, Malfoy. I could take your worthless life right now and no one would mourn the loss. I'm telling you now. If you harm one frizzy curl on her head-"

"Harm her?" asks Lucius as he leans back and casually taps his fingers on the arms of his chair. "What would be the point in harming the woman I wish to marry?"

"Come off it!" roars Potter. "You don't want to marry her. This is one of your schemes. Is it money you're after? Is that it? What's your price, Malfoy?"

"Not a Knut," Lucius says. "All the Galleons in Gringotts cannot sway me from my goal of marrying Hermione."

Potter snorts with disbelief.

"Frankly, your belief or acquiescence is not needed. You have no say in the matter, Mr. Potter. My gift has been accepted and Doris Granger gave me permission to see her daughter this very afternoon. The courtship will proceed whether you like it or not." Lucius rises and strolls to the door as if he hasn't a care in the world. "I believe we are finished here. Popsy will see you out."

"We're not done, Malfoy," growls Potter as he flourishes his wand.

Lucius turns and coolly regards the boy. "Mr. Potter, before you attempt to hex me into oblivion you should know that the manor is extremely protective of it's master. Shed my blood and yours shall flow freely as well. You will not make it out of here alive."

Although Lucius speaks the truth, it is also an idle threat. Potter has already shown that he can bear anything the manor has to offer.

But Potter does not know that.

"A wise choice," says Lucius, when Potter drops his arm and brushes past him.

"This isn't over, Malfoy," says Potter, over his shoulder.

"No, I imagine it's not."

xxxxx

Monday afternoon finds Lucius at a small table at the Leaky Cauldron. A simple notice-me-not charm is placed on his body. The charm is highly effective with Muggles but wizards are far more immune to its power. As long as he does not make any sudden movements, he will not call any undue attention to himself.

The maze of people and smoke in the pub make it hard to see, but from his vantage point, Lucius has a clear view of Hermione Granger. 

Motivated by interest and perhaps boredom, Lucius has taken to secretly watching Hermione over these past few weeks, trailing after her as she moves about both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds.

Lunch is always at the Leaky Cauldron at precisely one o'clock. Hermione usually eats alone or with that Thomas boy. Today, however, she is joined by a tall, reedy boy with black hair and droopy eyes that make him look as if he is constantly on the verge of falling asleep.

Theodore Nott.

His sources have provided much information on Nott and his relationship with Hermione. A mild flirtation, they call it. Perhaps it is merely a mild flirtation on Hermione's part but Nott is clearly smitten.

He follows them as they leave the Cauldron a half hour later. Nott walks Hermione to the offices of Little Red Books and leaves her with a rather debonair kiss on the hand.

How sweet.

Hermione stares after him with a sad, wistful expression on her face.

"Good afternoon, Hermione," says Lucius, standing near her at the entrance of the publishing house.

By speaking, Lucius has broken the charm and startles Hermione, who is just now noticing him.

"You!" she snaps, her face a portrait of displeasure. "What do you want?"

Lucius looks down the street where Nott is going into Flourish and Botts. "Hermione, you do realize that while you are engaged in L'Amour Contractuel with me, you are not allowed any other romantic entanglements." 

"Theodore is just a friend!"

"I should hope so," says Lucius as he smooths a few errant wrinkles from his robes. "Young Theodore is the sole heir to the Nott legacy. It would grieve me greatly to be responsible for ending such a long and illustrious line. But...one must do what one must."

"You will leave him alone," says Hermione, seething. "He has nothing to do with this!"

"Make sure it stays that way," says Lucius. "This really is just between the two of us. I trust in the future you will not send any more of your quarrelsome friends my way."

"What are you talking about?" asks Hermione, now regarding Lucius with curiosity.

"Oh, you don't know? I had a delightful visit from Mr. Potter Saturday evening. He made the most frightful threats to my life. Such a violent boy, he is. I am lucky to still be alive."

"Harry knows?" whispers Hermione, ignoring Lucius. "Damn it, Remus!"

"He certainly does," says Lucius. "Now, I believe you owe me a date. This Friday, I think. I'll pick you up at 7 o'clock."

"I've got plans."

"Well, you'll have to break them now, won't you?"

"Fine," she bites out. "I want this over and done with. The sooner the better." She turns a grave face to Lucius. "Why are you doing this? Really?"

"I thought I made myself perfectly clear on Saturday."

"You meant all that tripe you fed my mother?" Hermione asks disdainfully.

Lucius smirks. "I suppose I did lay it on a little thick." He leans in to free a rogue curl that has entangled itself in the collar of her robes. In her ear, he softly says, "It wasn't all lies, you know? You have been foremost on my mind for quite some time."

Hermione backs away with a scowl. "Do you ever tell the truth, Mr. Malfoy?"

"When it suits me," says Lucius, smiling. "And it suits me now." He gives Hermione a courteous nod. "Until Friday."

xxxxx

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione screams as she blasts into the parlor at Grimmauld Place.

Harry jumps away from Remus with a start, his hand still wedged deeply down his lover's trousers.

All the other times when Hermione has accidentally walked in on the two being intimate, she has fled immediately with embarrassed apologies.

Not today.

"Why did you tell him, Remus?" she demands as the man frantically tries to zip himself up. "You promised you wouldn't."

"He didn't," Harry answers darkly. "I overheard you telling him about it on Saturday afternoon."

"And why didn't you come to me?"

"I could ask the same of you!" Harry leaps to his feet and stalks over to a table where a huge, bulging burlap sack sits next to a thick book. He grabs the sack and plops it on the coffee table before Hermione. "There's your fine money. Take it!"

"I have to go on this date."

"This is madness, Hermione. You're not going!"

"No, Harry. I've already decided. It's my choice, not yours." Hermione can hardly believe it. Here she is defending her right to go on a date with Malfoy.

"I told you she was dead set on it," says Remus.

"Well, if that's the way it's going to be then we move on to plan B," Harry says bitterly.

"Plan B?"

A surprising smirk passes Harry's face as he picks up the book on the table.

"Plan B," he says, shaking the book in Hermione's face. "You're not the only one who knows how to do a little research, Hermione." He flips through the book, seemingly at random. "I've been reading up on L'Amour Contractuel and you're allowed a chaperone."

"Oh no!" says Hermione, knowing exactly where this is headed.

"Oh yes, Hermione! If you insist on going on this date with Malfoy then I'm coming with you."

"You are not!" Hermione says decisively. "The only reason I'm going is to discover what Malfoy wants. He's not going to talk if you're there picking fights with him the whole time."

"Then take Remus!"

"I can't take Remus. The date is this Friday and there's a full moon. I'm sorry, Harry. I'm going…alone…and there's nothing you can do about it."

"I'm sorry too, Hermione," says Harry, softly. He raises his wand to her. "Stupefy."

xxxxx

Hermione casts a wary glance at the small clock ticking away on the bedroom wall.

Three minutes until five.

In two hours Malfoy will arrive at her house and not find her there. He will be terribly angry.

Will he take it out on her mother, Hermione wonders with a chill.

Although she knows it is pointless, Hermione goes to the locked door and pounds on it with everything she has. Her fists make no difference nor do the many unlocking charms she performs.

Ever since Monday evening she has been imprisoned in her old room at Grimmauld Place. Harry refuses to release her until she agrees to not see Malfoy. He has sent word to her mother and Little Red Books that she has fallen ill and will be recuperating at Grimmauld Place for an indefinite amount of time. 

She still can't believe Harry has done this to her.

Remus tried to free her that very first night but the door is heavily spelled so that only Harry can release her.

Hermione's captivity has been the source of a great deal of fighting between Harry and Remus. She can hear them arguing about it night after night. Hermione isn't certain which, but one of them is definitely sleeping on the sofa. 

She hopes it's Harry.

The first few days, Hermione was so righteously furious she could do little but scream at Harry through the door. Her fury has been fueled by the unspoken implication that she can't take care of herself.

Hasn't she faced Dark wizards just as fierce as Malfoy in the past?

Anger gave way to exhaustion and now she'll do or say anything to get out.

Shortly before six, Harry arrives home from the Auror's academy. Hermione pleads for him to come up and talk to her.

"Are you okay in there, Hermione?" asks Harry, from the other side of the door.

"What the hell do you think?" she cannot resist snarling.

"Look, I'm sorry but-"

"Shove off, Harry! I don't want to hear it!" She sighs heavily. "You win, all right? I'll pay the damn fine and tell Malfoy he can go bugger himself. Just let me out. I want to go home."

"I don't believe you, Hermione."

Hermione screams with frustration. "What do I have to do to make you believe me?"

Silence reigns for several seconds.

"I want a Wizard's Oath."

Hermione pauses. "Fine, you have it. I swear I will give Malfoy the money. Are you happy now?"

The door creaks open to Harry's relieved face. "Yes."

Hermione frowns deeply and pushes past him.

"You can be mad at me now, Hermione," says Harry as he trails after her. "But you'll soon realize this is for the best."

Remus is waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Surprise etches his face.

"Finally came to his senses, did he?" he says, glowering at Harry.

"It was Hermione that came to her senses," says Harry, happily, as he goes into the parlor. He returns with the sack of Galleons. "She's going to pay the fine."

"Is that right?"

Harry nods and then takes a quick look at his watch. "What time is Malfoy supposed to pick you up?"

"Seven."

"Oh, well, we've got time but we better go now in case Malfoy shows up early."

"What do you mean 'we'?" asks Hermione.

"I'm going to be there when you tell him," says Harry.

"No, Harry, you have to meet Ron at Sally's. He is going to be suspicious if we both don't show up. And don't you dare tell him about any of this. I don't want any more people knowing."

"But, Hermione-"

"Don't you trust me?" Hermione asks tearfully. "Didn't I make a Wizard's Oath to give the money to Malfoy?"

"I'll go," Remus says suddenly. "There are still a few hours before the moon rises."

Harry does not look pleased but hands the sack of Galleons to Remus. "All right."

Two soft pops rent the air as Hermione and Remus arrive in the garden behind the Granger home.

"A rather interesting Wizard's Oath, Hermione," Remus says skeptically. "I couldn't help but notice that nothing was said about not going on the date with Malfoy."

"It was implied."

"Not to mention the fact that the fine money isn't directly paid to Malfoy but rather filtered through the Ministry first."

"Malfoy and I will work out the legalities," says Hermione, waving a dismissive hand. "You don't have to stick around, Remus. I know this is a bad night for you. Everything will be fine."

"No, I'd rather stay," says Remus. "I want to have little chat with Malfoy before he takes you on your date."

Hermione eyes widen.

Remus smiles ruefully. "You might have fooled Harry but I know you're determined to see this through. I can't say I'm thrilled but Harry has no right to be so high handed about it." He looks down at the moneybag at his side. "So, what's the plan then? Give the money to Malfoy and then make him give it back to you?"

"Yes, I thought that might work."

"It should," Remus says with a nod. "I'll find a way to return the Galleons to Harry's account without him knowing."

"Thank you, Remus," Hermione says quietly.

"I thought I heard you Apparating to the house," Doris says, suddenly appearing at the back door. She rushes out to the garden to press a hand against Hermione's forehead. "Are feeling better? I tried to see you but Harry told me you were too contagious for visitors."

"I'm fine, Mum," says Hermione. "It was a magical virus. Came and went just like that."

Last Saturday, Hermione was both relieved and disappointed that there was no evidence of Doris being under Imperius. She'd truly acted all on her own.

Although Hermione hasn't exactly forgiven her mother, she doesn't have the energy to remain actively angry with her.

Used to how things work in the Muggle world, Doris doesn't seem to understand that with a mere spoken word, she has bound her daughter to very serious contract.

And Hermione realizes she is not completely faultless in the matter.

Doris knows that Malfoy had been a Death Eater, but thanks to years of Hermione's lies, as far as she is concerned, Voldemort and his followers were no worse than a pack of schoolyard bullies. Not that it will matter if Hermione tells the truth now. Doris turns a deaf ear to any word against her darling Lucius. 

"Thank you for seeing Hermione home, Remus," says Doris, tugging on Hermione's hand. "Sweetie, why don't you go settle in bed and I'll bring you up some of that chicken soup you love so much."

"Actually, Mum," began Hermione. "I'm seeing Mr. Malfoy tonight. He should arrive at seven. Remus needs to have a little talk with him beforehand."

"Really?" asks Doris, her face brightening. "I'm so glad you've decided to give him a chance! I better go and run a bath for you, dear. You haven't much time to get ready."

Hermione hasn't given much thought to what she will wear on this date with Malfoy. After a quick bath, she stands before the armoire in her room, a towel wrapped around her body.

She doesn't want to get very dressed up, but neither can she throw on any old thing. Doris is sure to throw a fit if she does not make an effort to look nice for Malfoy. She has a few robes that might work but…

Oh! Perfect!

Hermione pulls out the black suit she bought last month to attend a Muggle neighbor's funeral. Very apt, Hermione thinks. She feels like she is about to attend a funeral.

Her own. 

The suit is very plain, consisting of a tailored jacket and medium length skirt. With a few flicks of her wand, she glamours the material at the lapels and cuffs to appear as a shiny black satin. She lengthens the skirt so it reaches to her ankles and adds a slit down the side. A red silk chemise under the jacket completes the ensemble. 

Hermione is exceptionally pleased with herself as she looks into the mirror. Doris won't be able to find any fault with her but Malfoy is bound to be appalled by her very Muggle appearance. Indeed, when Doris comes in a few minutes later to liberally spray Hermione with her most expensive perfume she declares Hermione to look glamorous and sophisticated.

If she only knew.

There isn't enough time to do anything with her hair and Hermione honestly doesn't care enough to bother. She performs a quick drying spell but otherwise lets it fly free and wild.

She follows Doris downstairs to find that Malfoy is already there. Remus - a very terrifying Remus looking far more wolf than man - has him cornered in the parlor, hissing loudly in his ear.

"Are we understood?" Remus asks, backing away.

"Perfectly," Malfoy says sardonically.

"Is there a problem?" Doris asks, noting the unmistakable hostility between the two men. 

"Not at all, Doris," says Malfoy, forcing a smile on his face.

Remus' smile, conversely, is genuine when he sees Hermione. "You look beautiful, Hermione." He nudges Malfoy in the side. "Doesn't she, Lucius?"

Malfoy, who is in full Wizarding robes of a midnight blue, says. "Yes. I, well…I am at a loss for words."

"I'm sure you are," says Hermione, falsely sweet. "There's something we need to do first."

Hermione motions to Remus and he produces the bag of Galleons. She takes the moneybag from him and thrusts it out to Malfoy.

"Take this," she says.

"What's this all about?" Malfoy asks suspiciously as he accepts the bag.

"It's not important," says Hermione. A few seconds later, she jerks the bag from him and gives it back to Remus. "That ought to do it."

"Well, don't let us keep you," says Doris, clearly confused at the odd display. "You two have a lovely evening together. The first of many, I'm sure."

Hermione audibly grits her teeth.

"Thank you, Doris," says Malfoy, taking Hermione's arm and forcing it hook around his own. "I'll have your daughter back at a reasonable hour."

"Oh, I won't wait up," Doris says solicitously.

Malfoy leads Hermione out the front door. She is mindful of Remus' concerned eyes on her back.

"Have you ever traveled via Side-Along-Apparation?" asks Malfoy as they step outside.

"No," says Hermione, trying to loosen herself from Malfoy's hold. "And what have you got planned for us? A night of Muggle baiting?"

Lucius grins. "A little dinner and dancing. I believe that is standard fare for a first date." He pauses reflectively. "Though I suppose there is a little Muggle baiting. But that's at the very end." He holds out his hand. "During Side-Along-Apparation it is important we do not lose physical contact. Take my hand, Hermione."

Hermione cautiously wraps her fingers around Malfoy's hand.

"Ready?"

No.

She takes a steadying breath.

"Yes."

xxxxx

And that was chapter 4. I hope you all enjoyed it. Please me know if you did or not. The next part will be the date, of course.

Also, I have posted some L/Hr fanart to my LJ that was sort of inspired by this fic. If you would like to see it, there is a link in my profile. 


	5. Chapter 5

AN: I am so, so sorry I took so long to get this posted. I actually have a decent excuse this time. My old computer died and I had to buy a new one. And then I discovered that the file for this chapter was horribly corrupted and I had to rewrite it from scratch. We won't even talk about the several pre-written chapters I lost due to the crash. It's too depressing to think about.

Thanks for all the reviews! I appreciate them very much. I am still awed at the great reception my fic has received.

And thank you to Adie for all her help!

xxxxx

Hermione immediately moves away from Malfoy on arrival.

"Where are we?" she demands, finding herself in the middle of a long, narrow room that is softly lit with free-floating candles.

"We are in the Apparation Room at my home in Wiltshire," Malfoy says as he pulls his cloak off with a flourish. He throws it up in the air and a ghostly hand materializes to catch it. Both the cloak and hand vanish in a whirl of blue smoke. "Your coat, Hermione?"

"It's meant to stay on, thanks," says Hermione, hugging herself. "Are we having our date here?"

"Yes. I thought some privacy would be in order."

"What's the matter, Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione asks brusquely. "Ashamed to be seen in public with a Muggle-born witch?"

Malfoy's lips quirk upwards with amusement. "Actually, I thought you would be the one to appreciate the discretion." 

Hermione harrumphs, even though it is true. However, the idea of being completely alone with the man in his own home fills her with apprehension. She is quickly beginning to regret her refusal to let Harry come along as a chaperone.

"Shall we?" asks Malfoy.

She ignores the proffered arm and walks past him, through a large, stone archway that leads to the center of the house. She knows it is foolish to turn her back on Lucius Malfoy but she is determined to show him she is not afraid.

So this is Malfoy's home…

In her most wild imaginings, she has envisioned a gloomy but decadent castle littered with Dark Art artifacts and the rotting corpses of unfortunate Muggles who were unlucky enough to cross Malfoy's path.

Or, perhaps more realistically, something along the lines of Grimmauld Place.

The truth is something of a let down.

Malfoy's home is simply a very large manor house richly decorated in the ornate French style of the eighteenth century. If not for the bold touches of magic and whimsy, Hermione can just about believe she has stepped into the past, into the home of a landed Muggle aristocrat. Any second, she expects some dandy of a man in a powdered wig and brocade waistcoat to step out of one of the many rooms.

Large Wizarding paintings hang on nearly every inch of every wall. Curiously, all the people in the portraits have their backs turned although they whisper amongst themselves in both English and French. 

Hermione assumes they refuse to show themselves because she is there.

"I don't think your relatives approve of me being here," she says as Malfoy joins her side.

"It's not you they disapprove of," Malfoy says dryly.

"Father! Who is she?"

Hermione jumps at the unexpected sound of Draco Malfoy's voice echoing through the halls. The painted figure of the teenaged boy rudely shoves a young witch in purple robes out of the painting closest to Hermione.

"Who are you?" he demands, sneering down at her. "You look like a bloody Muggle!"

She is momentarily struck speechless. The last time she has seen Draco, in any form, was on the Hogwarts Express at the end of their sixth year. Hermione never knew what happened to him until Malfoy joined the Order to avenge his son's death.

"Don't you recognize me?' asks Hermione.

Hermione has learned quite a bit about the nature of Wizarding portraits from Dean Thomas, who works as an artist as a side job. The levels of consciousness in each portrait varies according to skill of the artist. The Malfoys have undoubtedly paid for the best and it is obvious in this eerily lifelike Draco. He will recall her eventually, even if he doesn't at this precise moment.

"Why would I know a dirty Muggle?" he asks snidely. "Father! Why have you sullied our home with some Muggle whore? Are you going to torture her? Can I watch?"

With a white-knuckled grip on her wand, Hermione glares at the painting, aching to conjure up a bit of paint remover.

"Come along, Hermione," Malfoy says quickly, as if sensing her destructive thoughts. "Allow me to show you around my home."

"Hermione?" Draco repeats from behind them, an inquisitive lilt to his voice. "I know that name - wait a minute!"

Hermione uneasily lets the elder Malfoy lead her away. He takes no heed of Draco, who is continuing to call after them, and Hermione chooses to do the same. 

As Malfoy gives her a cursory tour of the manor's public areas, Hermione is once again struck at how utterly normal everything appears on first glance. There is nothing to suggest that she walks in the home of an infamous Dark wizard.

On further thought, Hermione realizes that it suits him. Prior to having been exposed as a Death Eater, Malfoy tried to portray himself as an honorable pillar of the community. Naturally, his home will reflect that.

However, like the man, it is merely a façade of respectability. Hermione has no doubts that beyond the grand and innocent-seeming rooms there are other places here. Places full of evil and death. Perhaps it is merely her overactive imagination but Hermione believes she can feel some sort of dank darkness seeping into her skin.

Shivering, Hermione banishes the ominous thoughts from her mind. She knows she must remain alert and focused if she is to survive this night.

Hermione has always had a thirst for knowledge of any sort, and to her consternation she finds herself more than a little fascinated as Lucius shows her about, pointing out many items of historical and magical significance. She is not about to let Malfoy know that, however, and bites hard on her tongue to prevent herself from asking questions about the various antiquities.

Her little charade of detached boredom ends when Malfoy takes her to the manor's library. Shelves bulging with books have been built into every wall. Hermione cannot resist taking a quick peek at the titles, making a mental note of those books she has not yet read.

There is a massive book resting on a marble pedestal that most interests Hermione. The book is parted right down the very middle and spans longer than the breadth of her arms. Each side of it is thicker than a foot high. A large globe of light floats over the book, illuminating the aged parchment of its pages. 

"What is this?" asks Hermione, bending over the book to get a closer look. Spidery, black ink crawls across the pages, depicting what is obviously a very old family tree.

She wonders if all Pureblooded families have ostentatious shrines to their lineage.

"This book contains the history and secrets of the Malfoy family," says Malfoy as he runs his fingers down the side of the book, lifting the pages slightly and giving Hermione a fleeting view of long passages of text and the occasional sketch. "It is priceless. In telling the story of my family, the history of the Wizarding world is made known as well."

As Malfoy speaks, Hermione inspects the tree, feeling very much appalled. Her mouth gaping open, she tries to trace the family lines. A most difficult undertaking given the way the lines zigzag and traverse across the pages. It is rare to see a name that is not already connected to several others.

Malfoy is so inbred that it's miraculous that he is not deformed in some way. She gives him a sideways glance, wondering if he hides any abnormalities in those voluminous robes of his.

"Very impressive, is it not?" Malfoy asks with pride in his voice, evidently mistaking Hermione's reaction as reverent awe.

"It certainly is," is Hermione's diplomatic answer.

"This book has been passed down though generations of Malfoys," says Malfoy as he tenderly caresses the book. "Every Malfoy is required to read it in its entirety. A task that takes years to complete. You see, Hermione, for a Malfoy, family is valued above all. Our loyalty is first and foremost to the Malfoy line." Malfoy pauses reflectively. "When the Dark Lord murdered my son…my heir, I had no choice but to see him destroyed. Family honor, among other things, called for it. I don't think the Dark Lord expected my betrayal. He never understood how important family could be to a man."

Malfoy's voice is cold and distant as he talks of the son's death. However, the tension around his eyes and mouth reveal that he is not as apathetic as he may have liked to appear. His fingers trail over the page, lingering ever so slightly on Draco's entry.

Hermione looks away. Her opinion of Malfoy notwithstanding, she is not surprised that he loved his son. Yet, she does not want to think of Malfoy as a man with feelings. A cold-hearted monster is what he is. A murderer of innocent Muggles who have done nothing to him but exist. A man who has preached for years that people like her are not fit to practice magic.

Better to remember him as that, and nothing else.

The tour ends in a lounge done in muted blues and greens. Malfoy motions for her to sit on a fragile-looking divan.

"We will dine shortly," he says as he positions himself behind a large, well-stocked bar. "Would you care for something to drink?"

"No, thank you, Mr. Malfoy," says Hermione, primly crossing her legs at her ankles.

"You may call me Lucius," offers Malfoy.

"I don't think so," she says curtly. "And please stop using my name. It suggests an intimacy that does not exist and never will."

"Never is an awfully long time, Hermione," says Malfoy, moving to sit in a light blue chair with thin, curved legs that look like they cannot bear the weight of air, let alone all of Malfoy.

An awkward silence ensues.

Awkward for Hermione, at any rate. Malfoy appears perfectly at ease, content to leer at her as he drinks slowly from his glass.

"How did you manage to keep your home from the Ministry?" asks Hermione, mostly to fill the silence although she is genuinely curious. As far as she knows, all Death Eaters have lost all of their holdings, including their properties.

"The Ministry had no hope of confiscating Malfoy Manor," says Malfoy. "And they were not stupid enough to try. It is heavily protected and the wards prevent any unwanted persons from gaining entrance. Hence the need for me to Apparate you here myself. Had you tried alone you have endured a very nasty death."

"Harry got in," Hermione points out.

"I remember," says Malfoy, with a small frown. "I must say, he and that werewolf are well suited. Cut from the same cloth, they are."

"And what cloth would that be?" snaps Hermione, hearing the disapproval in Malfoy's voice. "The kind that produces good, decent people?"

"Good, decent people don't make threats on others' lives."

"That's rich, coming from you," Hermione says with a rough snort of laughter. "You know nothing of goodness or decency."

"I can be decent when the occasion calls for it. Haven't I been all night? Even though you have been exceedingly rude? I normally don't tolerate such behavior. But, the situation being what it is, I am willing to forgive and forget."

"It's all an act," Hermione says as she pretends nonchalance by idly tapping her wand on her knee. "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, how long do you plan on continuing this pretense of wanting to court me? It's becoming very tiresome."

"It's no pretense, Hermione," says Malfoy. "I once told you that you could question me under Veritaserum. The offer still stands"  
"You've found a way around it, no doubt."

"Determined to disbelieve, aren't you?" Malfoy drawls lazily. "Why else would I engage you in L'Amour Contractuel?"

"You merely want to have a little sport with me," Hermione says with conviction. "This is just a game to you."

"A game?" scoffs Malfoy. "My dear girl, it is crude to speak of the financial costs of "L'Amour Contractuel but I can assure you that it is very expensive for the suitor. I am not one to throw away vast sums of money for a little game. Not only that, this courtship is a time-honored tradition of my ancestors. I would never disrespect the practice by initiating it falsely."

Hermione sighs inwardly. She is not surprised that Malfoy is unwavering in his ruse of wanting to court her. Getting to the truth will be extremely difficult. She is not so foolish to think she can outwit him by employing subtle Slytherin tactics, however, she doubts that a direct approach will work either. Malfoy likely has several lies prepared for any questions she may ask.

Perhaps it will be best to go along with everything for now. If Malfoy isn't on the offensive, he may let something slip about his true agenda.

"I can see that you are still skeptical," Malfoy says as he leans towards her, his eyes never leaving her face. "That is to be expected, I suppose. I suspect that there is nothing I can say to convince you otherwise. However, for now, your belief or disbelief matters little. I do not give up easily. The passing of time, if nothing else, will prove the sincerity of my courtship."

"I'm afraid you are very wrong, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione says at once. "If you attempt to give me another gift, I will refuse it, and the courtship will end."

Malfoy chuckles, low and deep, then relaxes back into his chair. "We'll see."

Hermione is about to protest further when a tall grandfather clock chimes the eighth hour.

Malfoy rises to his feet. "Time for supper."

He courteously helps a scowling Hermione off the divan. She keeps a wide distance from him as they walk out of the lounge.

Instead of the dining room, Malfoy leads her to a set of glass-paned doors that open to the outside.

"I have arranged for us to dine in the garden," he says. "I thought it would be more intimate."

The garden is much more in line of what she expects of Malfoy's home.

Menacing, it is. Dark green vegetation covers the vast grounds. Sinister-looking plants with spiky thorns, pulsing pustules, and creeping, crawling vines bunch up along a wide pathway. Hermione suppresses a shudder as the tendrils stretch out to languorously stroke at her bare ankles.

The path ends at an open courtyard. In the center sits a sculpture of tree made of black marble. It is a life-sized representation of the Malfoy crest with jade stone serpents twisting around its naked branches. Beneath the tree is a small, round table covered in iridescent linens.

Malfoy helps her into her chair, which isn't so much a chair but a very large marble hand that shoots up directly from the ground. She squirms as the fingers shift on her back, adjusting themselves to her shape.

It is not yet dark. The sun hangs low in the distance, casting its sunset rays over everything they touch. Malfoy's pale form takes on the color, giving him a dreamy, almost angelic appearance.

Shortly after Malfoy takes his seat, their food and place settings shimmer into existence. For their starters come miniature gougères. The elegant little cheese puffs are artfully arranged into a pyramid on a small silver plate.

Hermione eyes them dubiously.

"They've not been tampered with," Malfoy says with a small smirk, biting into one of his own. "Although you are welcome to verify that with a detection spell. Go ahead. I won't be offended."

Hermione has thought to do just that, albeit furtively, but now that Malfoy has made the suggestion himself, she can't give him the satisfaction. Hoping she will not pay for her pride with her life, she takes a tentative bite of the top most gougère.

It is unlike any cheese puff she has had before. Sharp and mellow cheeses blend with truffles and garlic, all baked to perfection. She takes another, fighting to keep the rapture of it from showing on her face.

She mustn't have done a very job for Malfoy says, "Like that, do you? It is one of my better creations."

Hermione chokes. "You made this?" she asks incredulously, once her throat clears.

"Yes," Malfoy says smugly. "I prepare most of my meals these days now that Narcissa has passed. She thought it tacky to cook for oneself and insisted on letting the elves do it. While I agree to a point, I'd rather not have a filthy house-elf touch something I am going to put in my mouth."

"And why is that?" asks Hermione, popping another cheese puff into her mouth. "Scared they might try to poison you? Understandable, considering the horrible way you treat them."

"You've been talking to Dobby," says Malfoy. "Is he still at Hogwarts?"

"Yes. He has two children now. Both girls."

"Are they like him?"

"If you mean desirous to be more than oppressed slaves, then yes they are." Hermione beams. "Dobby is a shining example to house-elves everywhere."

"Must be something bad in the blood," Malfoy says contemplatively. "I was good to be rid of him, then, if his progeny are as abnormal as he. I suppose Potter did me a favor."

"Dobby is not abnormal!" grumbles Hermione. "What he is-"

"What he is," interrupts Malfoy, "is a defective house-elf. A rarity among his kind. You'll not find many more like him."

"There's plenty more like him," insists Hermione. "They are afraid to speak out, afraid of the abuse they'll receive from cruel masters like you if they do!"

"Contrary to popular belief, I do not fritter away my days by abusing my elves," says Malfoy, his voice ringing with mirth. "Dobby was a difficult elf and required firm handling. I may have been ruthless in my discipline with him, but he was the exception, not the rule. For the most part, I do not bother with the manor's elves as long as they do their work to my satisfaction. Were you to speak with them, you'd find they are a content if not happy lot. In all honesty, they'd be more frightened of you than they would be of me."

"Why would they be scared of me?"

"Because you want to free them," Malfoy answers quickly. "The cruelest thing you can do a house-elf is to give them clothes."

"Freedom is not cruelty"  
Malfoy peers at Hermione over the rim of his goblet and tilts his head. "Hermione, have you ever actually talked to an elf, other than Dobby? Or have you merely read about them in those books you're so fond of?"

"Of course, I have!"

"Then you must not have listened to what they had to say."

"I listened!" snaps Hermione. "And what I heard sickened me. Centuries of brainwashing-"

"Brainwashing?"

Hermione's heated tirade cools in the face of Malfoy's confusion. "Umm, yes, it means-"

"I get it," Malfoy says derisively. "What silly phrases Muggles invent."

"Yes, well, they have obviously been conditioned to believe that they are not worthy enough to have the rights they are entitled to."

Malfoy bursts into laughter. "Oh, Hermione, you do have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"What I have is an incredible difficulty believing any sentient, intelligent being wants to be owned."

"Why?" asks Malfoy. "It even occurs among humans. Take Bellatrix Lestrange, for example. The Dark Lord owned her completely…willingly. His will was her will. It was her singular life's purpose to serve him."

"That is hardly normal."

"It is for a house-elf. Look at your most wonderful Dobby. He has his freedom but what has he done with it? Precious little. He works at Hogwarts, serving the residents just the same as the enslaved elves. And why? Because it is his innate nature to be a servant to man."

"It is because wizards refuse to allow him to be anything else."

"Is that so?" asks Malfoy, grinning. "Ask him what he'd like to do most, if given the chance. I'd bet my last Galleon that it is exactly what he is doing right now."

"Yes, it is so!" exclaims Hermione. She tosses back her hair with righteous fury. "But I plan on changing that. It will be my life's work to improve the lives of house-elves."

"Ah, yes, I've heard all about your spew."

"It's S P E W!"

"Whatever it is, it is a horrible idea." Malfoy pauses as he indulges in a cheese puff and chews thoughtfully. "Hermione, you do realize you are merely contributing to the ill will already directed towards Muggle-borns, don't you?"

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" Hermione asks furiously.

"It means exactly what it means," says Malfoy, serenely. "It is always the same with you Muggle-borns. You come into the Wizarding world with your Muggle mentalities, judging everything…trying to change everything. It's as if our world isn't good enough for you as it is. Continue on this course if you wish, Hermione, but prepare yourself for a very hostile response."

Hermione glares.

"What? Would you rather I speak falsely?" he asks with a lifted eyebrow. "Would you rather I flatter you with pretty, little lies and compliment your so-called forward thinking?"

"I'd rather you not speak to me at all," says Hermione, coldly. She folds her hands together under the table and refuses to look at him, staring at her empty plate instead. A few seconds later, it disappears and new one appears. It is larger than the first with a braised lamb chop, roasted potatoes, and stalks of asparagus lightly covered in a white sauce.

Hermione would like nothing better than to throw the plate in his face and walk out of there but she doesn't think she'll be able to safely Disapparate off the premises without him. She has splinched herself once before and it is an experience she doesn't care to repeat even if it means having to endure Malfoy. She concentrates on eating instead, determined not to enjoy the delicious meal simply because he made it.

Malfoy speaks as they dine, although Hermione doesn't acknowledge him. The topics are safe and neutral initially. As the meal and Hermione's silence continue, his words become more charged, intended to provoke. He seems to take some perverse delight in angering her but Hermione will not play his game. She will not give him the pleasure of her fury.

Hermione remains closed-mouthed and calm when Malfoy tells her the new policy of making Muggle Studies a required class is a waste of valuable money and time.

She begins to fume visibly when he says the laws that will make life a little easier for werewolves like Remus Lupin are a huge danger for society.

She breaks when Malfoy pleasantly enumerates the many reasons wizards are far superior to Muggles.

"Stop now. I've heard enough."

Malfoy concedes with a nod as he waves his wand over the table. The remnants of their main course fade away and in their place come their afters, for which Malfoy has prepared a luscious-looking chocolate tort with a creamy, orange-flavored filling.

Hermione frowns at Malfoy as she tucks into her torte, but oddly enough, she prefers him like this. Although he is still frustratingly polite, and his glib attitude is grating her every nerve, he is showing himself to be more like the hateful, ignorant man she knows him to be. Now all he has to do is call her a filthy Mudblood and things will be right on track. She finds herself anticipating it, wanting it to happen.

Malfoy is supposed to hate her, revile her very existence.

And he does, Hermione is certain of it. However, for whatever reason, he is choosing to pretend otherwise. Does he think her daft enough to fall for it?

"You know, Mr. Malfoy," begins Hermione. "For someone allegedly interested in courting me, you're doing a horrible job of it."

"You are right," says Malfoy, after a very long pause. "But you must understand, I am very much out of practice. It has been more than two decades since I last had to woo a woman."

"And you've just called attention to one of many reasons this is an ill-thought venture," says Hermione. "Even forgetting our history together, and the fact that I do not wish to marry for some time, if at all, do you think I would want to be involved with man of your age?"

"You are thinking like a Muggle," says Malfoy. "Twenty-five years difference will mean nothing when we are in our hundreds."

"Well, it means something now. Besides, we'd never make it that long. If, through some ghastly twist of fate we do find ourselves in the state of unholy matrimony, one of us will surely murder the other before the honeymoon ends."

"Perhaps," says Malfoy. "But, you have to admit, things would never get boring."

"I can do without that kind of excitement, thank you," says Hermione as she brings her fork down to her plate for another piece of the chocolate torte, only to discover that she has already consumed the entire slice. She jealously watches as Malfoy slowly savors the remainder of his own.

Malfoy pauses just as he is about to eat the last piece. He then abruptly holds it out to Hermione. The tantalizing piece of cake hovers millimeters from her nose and mouth. She clamps her lips tightly together.

"Don't be ridiculous," says Malfoy, waving the fork slightly. "You want it. Take it."

To her everlasting shame, Hermione's mouth opens on its own will. Malfoy carefully feeds her the torte then taps the back of his fork against her lips.

"Good girl," he says, then rests in his chair to pat at his mouth with a napkin. He glances about the night sky. The sun has set but the moon has not shown itself. "We still have a little time before the second half of our date can commence, if you wish to freshen up or such."

"And what would the second half be?" asks Hermione as Malfoy needlessly assists her out of the hand-chair. 

"The dancing."

"I don't like to dance," Hermione says quickly. Dancing means more then just touching Malfoy. It means being wrapped in his arms for prolonged periods of time. His fingers pressing into her back as he directs her towards the manor is too much contact as it is.

"That's all right," says Malfoy, with a mysterious smile. "You won't need to."

Inside the manor, Malfoy shows Hermione to the bathroom and waits outside. She is pleasantly surprised to discover that the bathroom is a fairly modern; not quite what she'd find in a Muggle home, but close. She honestly expected Malfoy to use enchanted chamber pots instead of toilets.

When she returns, Malfoy takes her to the manor's entrance hall.

"Where are we going?" asks Hermione. She hopes it's not too public a place.

"Not far," says Malfoy as he flicks his wand towards the floor. Hermione then notices that the floor is covered in beautiful Persian rugs that begin to twitch and flutter.

"They're magical carpets! They're illegal to have, you know."

"Yes…" says Malfoy, smirking. "But that is unimportant. Which would you prefer to ride?" He points to one eagerly waving its tassels at them. "That one is the fastest but is a bit unstable at times. The one at the end is the most comfortable but dreadfully slow."

"That one," Hermione says decisively. She isn't afraid of heights or flying even but if she is to be zooming through the air, she prefers it be while strapped to a comfortable seat and encased in several metric tons of metal. Naturally, she doesn't say this to Malfoy. He'll only point it out as further evidence of her Muggle mentality.

"Well then," says Malfoy as he enchants the selected rug to float just at their knees. "Let us go."

xxxxx

And there was chapter 5. I hope you all enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think. As always, any type of review is appreciated, even if it's to tell me you didn't like it.

I am very excited about chapter 6. The second half of their date is something I have wanted to put in a fic for years, literally. It's just seems like the perfect thing to do on a Wizarding date. I never got to the chance to include it in a fic until now. Here's a hint: Originally, I did intend for Remus to chaperone their date. Then, I realized it was necessary for their date to occur on a full moon night so Remus was out.

? 


	6. Chapter 6

AN: insert a bunch of lame excuses for the lateness here

Truthfully, I just suck.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to review. I greatly appreciate it.

And a huge thanks to Adie for the Brit-picking and such.

xxxxx

Hermione mentally curses Malfoy with the foulest hexes she can bring to mind.

The man clearly doesn't know the definition of "dreadfully slow".

Wiltshire's countryside is but a blur before her eyes as the "dreadfully slow" magical carpet whips through the night sky at horrifically nauseating speeds. Only Hermione's pride keeps her from clinging to Malfoy for dear life.

Fortunately, the trip lasts only a minute or two.

When they come to an abrupt stop, Malfoy effortlessly stands up as if he hasn't just ridden a magical equivalent of some harrowing amusement ride. With a wave of his wand, the end of the carpet folds itself into a series of small steps and he says, "Wait here. I shall be just a moment."

After her mind stops reeling, Hermione gets a good look at their location. The carpet slightly levitates above a small hill that overlooks a large wheat field. Not even a hundred meters away sits a Muggle farmhouse surrounded by cylinder silos. Through a lit window, Hermione can see an old man in a faded armchair sitting very close to the telly.

Her confusion abounding by the second, she searches for Malfoy who has disappeared into the dense forest that surrounds the farm. She cannot see him but hears him murmuring softly.

Trepidation fills Hermione as she remembers his flippant comment about Muggle baiting. At the time, she had thought it was in jest.

She isn't so certain anymore.

Hermione grips her wand and cautiously gets off the carpet, prepared for the absolute worst. She is halfway to the forest when Malfoy emerges. 

"Who were you talking to?" she demands.

"You'll find out soon enough," Malfoy says blithely as he leads Hermione back to the carpet. "Let us settle in. The show is about to begin."

"What show? It better not involve torturing Muggles!"

"That depends on your meaning of torture," he says, with a smug twist of his lips.

"Mr. Malfoy! I will not be a part-"

"Hush, Hermione. Lest you scare them away."

"Who?"

The answer comes in the form of a loud trilling sound resonating from the forest. Her mouth falls open as a group of Mooncalves timidly step forward. They are a great mix of young and old, male and female, the latter easily identified by the presence of several hanging teats.

Mooncalves are very shy, elusive animals that only show themselves on the night of the full moon. With their pale, gray skin and black, bulging eyes, their faces are remarkably similar to the so-called "Grays", the alien beings Muggles often reported as having encountered. However, unlike the upright "Grays", Mooncalves stand on four spindly legs that end in large, wide feet.

Hermione's ire melts away as Malfoy makes the carpet float high enough so that they have a wide view of the entire field. She is silent and eager as the Mooncalves draw themselves up to stand on their hind legs. The creatures seem to be just as comfortable walking upright as they are on all fours.

As the Mooncalves walk to the field, Hermione eyes the Muggle farmhouse with concern.

"What if the Muggles come out?"

"They won't," Malfoy says confidently. "Mooncalves produce a magic when they dance that shrouds them from a Muggle's eyes and ears." He then smirks. "However, the Muggles with assuredly see the results."

That worry abated, Hermione turns her full attention to the Mooncalves who are now mostly partnered up, although a few Mooncalves stand alone. Once in position, the males bow to the females, who respond with low curtsies. 

The dancing commences at once.

No music is needed at all. The Mooncalves provide it themselves as their large feet hammer rhythmically against the earth, producing a pounding, tribal-like beat. White lightning sparks under their feet and creates a smoky mist over the field. Hermione inhales deeply as the taste and smell of roasted wheat pervade her mouth and nose.

She begins to grin as the rows of wheat fall under the Mooncalves' feet and swinging arms. Spiraling circles and interconnecting rings start to form. She wonders how they do it. The Mooncalves appear to dance without any bit of direction, but together they form precise, neat patterns that look like they can mean something significant.

"A pity you don't like to dance," Malfoy suddenly says, startling Hermione. "Otherwise, I'd ask them to let you join in."

"They would never allow it," says Hermione, sadly dismissing the idea immediately. The intensely shy Mooncalves tend to flee if a human gets too close.

"They will do whatever I ask," says Malfoy, with much self-importance. "These Mooncalves belong to me, although I do allow them to roam free, provided they do not stray far from the manor. But, as you do not like dancing, it is of no matter."

"Well…" Hermione begins slowly, hoping she doesn't sound too keen. "I can make an exception."

Malfoy sends her an amused look as he lowers the carpet so that they are only a few meters from a male Mooncalf dancing alone. Malfoy gets off the carpet to speak briefly with him and the Mooncalf gives his consent with a loud warble.

When he returns, Malfoy says, "Be sure to curtsy to him when he bows, or else you'll offend him gravely and he won't dance with you." 

Hermione nods as she cautiously approaches the Mooncalf. She feels a bit daunted as she stares at the otherworldly face she has long associated with extraterrestrials, thanks to her Muggle upbringing. The Mooncalf regards her with curious, intelligent eyes as he gives her a very courteous bow; she returns with the requisite curtsy.

Standing on his hind legs, the Mooncalf towers over Hermione to such a degree, she thinks dancing together may be impossible. The Mooncalf appears to be of the same mind. He looks over her, clearly trying to determine how they can dance despite their greatly different sizes. After a moment's reflection, he lifts Hermione up and puts her arms around his neck. She holds on tight, desperately trying to ignore the naked Mooncalf genitals pressing into her leg.

The Mooncalf twirls Hermione across the wheat field at dizzying speeds, yet she does not feel nauseous in the least. She closes her eyes and is taken back to her childhood, when her father used to swing her around and around. Her elated shrieks ring into the night as she feels some foreign, bestial magic flow over her, allowing her to reach out to the wheat and have it bend to the ground at just a touch of her fingertips.

Unfortunately, it ends much too soon. After a final exhilarating spin, the Mooncalf leaves her at the edge of the field with another bow before charging into the forest with the rest of his pack.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" asks Malfoy as he leans casually against a tree.

"Yes," pants Hermione, still out of breath. She beams brightly, for a moment forgetting that she shouldn't smile at the likes of Lucius Malfoy.

Malfoy returns the grin as he comes in closer, so close his robes flutter against her. She stills as he palms her cheeks, his gaze intense on her face.

For one horrifying second, she thinks he is going to kiss her.

However, his hands move upward to comb though her hair. Flecks of wheat sprinkle out. Slowly and carefully, Malfoy removes the debris then surprises her by gently pulling on a single curl to watch it spring back to the rest of her mane.

"That's much better," he says, taking a step back. "Would you like to see what you helped create?"

Slightly unnerved, she just nods.

Hermione is completely awed by the end result, partly because she had a small hand in it. She swells with pride as she looks upon the tiny circles she made herself at the far end of the field. Her Arithmancy-addled brain tries to make sense of the designs. If she tilts her head just so, the patterns can easily be a graphical representation of Wenlock's Theorem of Sevens. 

"Even after all these decades, I never tire of this part," Malfoy says all of a sudden, interrupting Hermione's examination. He pulls out his wand and flicks it towards the sky. Flashing lights appear and a loud humming sound fills Hermione's ears.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Well, I did tell you there would be Muggle baiting." He nods towards the farmhouse. "Watch."

Hermione yells in alarm as the old Muggle man hobbles out, his hands over his ears.

"Don't," whispers Malfoy. "The carpet is enchanted to make us invisible but we can still be heard."

With wide-eyed wonder, the old man follows the lights to the field. 

"Bleedin' hell!" he exclaims, and then climbs onto a large piece of farm machinery to get a better look. He clutches at his chest and lets out a strangled cry as he looks up at the flashing lights. "Those Goddamn UFOs are at it again!"

Malfoy chuckles quietly, causing Hermione to frown with reproach.

"That's not very nice."

"It's harmless," says Malfoy, although he makes the lights fade away. "They're going to discover the patterns eventually. Might as well have a little fun with it."

"Sarah!" shouts the old man. "Sarah! Get out here, woman!"

Sarah, a round woman who is as short and fat as the old man is tall and thin, rushes out of the house.

"What are you on about, Sam?" asks Sarah, as she wipes her hands on the frilly pink apron tied to her ample waist.

"Look! Look!" Sam gestures madly at the circles in his field.

"Cor blimey!" moans Sarah, raising a hand to her mouth. 

Malfoy cackles loudly and without restrain. Hermione can only stare at him with amazement. However, she then remembers that this very same man had amused himself by flipping Muggles upside down at the World Cup. How unsurprising that his sense of humor continues to be so infantile.

"Did you hear that?" screams Sam, his head whipping about, seeming on the verge of a heart attack. "I bet they're still out there."

"Who?" Sarah's heavy jowls quiver with fear.

"The aliens, Sarah! The aliens!"

Malfoy wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. Hermione tries to look disapproving but she cannot resist a giggle when Sam leaps down with amazing agility and drags Sarah away, all while yelling, "Don't hurt us. We come in peace! We come in peace!"

"That was…something," says Hermione, after the Muggles have shut themselves up inside their house. She sees them peeking out from behind their closed curtains with fright on their faces and hastily made tinfoil hats on their heads.

"I get my pleasures where I can."

"At the expense of Muggles, I'd wager."

Malfoy shrugs. "They make it so easy for me. Well, shall we be off?"

Hermione looks down at the carpet she sits on. Although the trip will not last long, she prefers not to ride it again.

"Can we walk back?" asks Hermione, after a pause. "We don't seem to be far from the manor and I am still feeling a little woozy from dancing with the Mooncalves."

That seems like a good excuse as any.

"I suppose we could. It will be a ten minute walk, if we go through the forest."

Malfoy sends the carpet back to the manor with a tap of his wand before they set forth through the forest. The thick foliage of the trees blocks the glow of the moon so they must cast Lumos to illuminate their path. From the light of her wand, Hermione sees several pairs of eyes blinking out at her. The forest is full of creatures, small and large, magical and not.

"There are a lot of magical animals in this forest, for being so close to a Muggle farm," comments Hermione.

"Yes," says Malfoy. "Wiltshire has a very high population of them. Stonehenge is close by. I believe it calls them to the area."

As they venture deeper into the wood, Hermione cannot shake the feeling that someone or something is watching her, following her even.

Chancing a glance at Malfoy, Hermione wonders if she is simply being paranoid.

If he means to harm her, he'd done it by now, right?

Perhaps not.

Perhaps it's his intention to ease her into a feeling of security before attacking.

That'd be just like him.

Before she can reflect further on the matter, a twinkle of pearly white flashes at her side, and then, completely unbidden, she has a vision of a hard-faced man with a thick, black mustache lying lifeless on the ground.

Hermione stops dead in her tracks as a peculiar sort of music begins to drum loudly; a discordant melody of beating hooves and clanging metal. Terrible though it is, Hermione is mesmerized as if beckoned by a siren's song and she follows the sound. Her mind clouds as she hears Malfoy's distant voice commanding her to halt. His hands clutch at Hermione's body to stay her but he abruptly gives up and lets her continue on her course.

She is lured to a small clearing where she meets four galloping horses. Spectral, they are, with translucent, rotting bodies covered in shining silver armor. They are entirely white but for their angry eyes glowing an Avada Kedavra green.

Captivated, she stares into those haunting eyes as one ghostly horse draws near. A burning heat streams over her as the horse blows its fetid breath on her face. 

She is instantly transported, no longer in the clearing but in the familiar streets of Hogsmeade. The uneven cobblestones of the street press into her back as she looks up at…herself.

The other Hermione glares down at her, her face fierce and furious as she brandishes her wand. Hermione feels the most terrible pain as her world becomes green. She has never felt so alive as the life seeps from her body.

Green fades into black and nothingness.

Back in the forest, Hermione collapses to the ground.

xxxxx

Hermione's screams reverberate throughout the manor as she writhes on the transfigured camp bed in the manor's Potions laboratory. 

In the throes of the most terrible dreams, she is. A little relief can be found in consciousness but it'll be pointless to wake her until the soothing draught is finished.

Lucius adds a bit chamomile to the bubbling cauldron in front of him and stirs anti-clockwise five times. Once the potion is completed, he sets it off the fire to cool to room temperature.

Oh, how the secrets have ousted themselves tonight!

The men he has paid to investigate Hermione mentioned nothing of this.

Lucius is very pleased. Not only has this evening's event provided him with great opportunity, but it has also added to the enigma that is Hermione Granger.

He looks upon her in the wait. Such a childlike face she has, still rounded, full, and glowing with youthful innocence.

Innocence! Lucius scoffs. What a joke!

The girl has cast the Killing Curse; more than once, he is certain. It takes a great darkness of the soul to accomplish that. Lucius has known Death Eaters who were unable to perform the curse.

That she has succeeded where some of the most evil of men have failed…

Well, it's a shock, to say the least, but a very welcome one. Lucius feels oddly proud of her. A shiver delight courses over him as he think of the dark depths Hermione has gone to and he wonders just how far she can truly go.

Lucius fully intends to find out.

However, for now, more important matters require his attentions.

A few minutes later, the soothing potion is ready for consumption. Lucius quickly adds a dose to a steaming cup of hot chocolate. He is eager to question his little murderess.

Pressing his wand against her sweaty brow, Lucius revives Hermione with an Ennervate spell.

Hermione wakes with a start, a scream dies in her throat as she thrashes on the cot.

"Wha…what happened?" she asks, her voice rough and scratchy from all the screaming she had done in her sleep.

"Drink this," says Lucius, holding the hot chocolate out to her.

"What is it?"

"Hot chocolate, laced with a soothing potion. It will help you."

The cup shakes violently in Hermione's trembling hands and makes the hot chocolate splash everywhere. Lucius takes the cup from her and tilts her head back, forcing her to drink until the last drop is consumed.

"So tell me, Hermione," Lucius asks blandly, as she begins to visibly calm and relax. "Just how many people have you murdered?"

Hermione looks sharply at him before turning away. In a tiny but outraged voice, she says,"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, Hermione, there's no need to lie," Lucius says patiently. "You'll get no condemnation from me."

"I'm not lying!"

"You have no idea what you encountered tonight, do you?" Lucius does not wait for an answer. "They are called Knight Mares. Vengeful spirits known to haunt witches and wizards for the whole of their lifetimes. They are a nasty cousin to the Thestrals and like the Thestrals, only certain people can see them. People who have killed using the Killing Curse. People like you."

"How come I've never heard of these Knight Mares before?" Hermione asks almost accusingly, as if her ignorance in the matter is somehow his fault. "And why aren't you affected? You can't tell me you've never performed that Unforgivable."

"Of course, I have," Lucius says casually, as if confessing to some trivial misdemeanor. "However, Knight Mares feed on remorse and quilt. I have none. I can see the Knight Mares, yes, but they do not bother me in the least."

"Well, isn't it damn convenient to be an unrepentant sociopath!" she snaps.

Sociopath? It must be another one of those asinine Muggle terms. He decides not to display his gap in knowledge by asking for clarification. Instead, he answers her first question.

"It's not surprising you've never heard of the Knight Mares, given the series of incompetent Defense professors you suffered at Hogwarts. Even so, you wouldn't have learned much. Little is known about the Knight Mares because the few people who can see them have great reason to avoid them at all costs."

"I certainly will from now on." Hermione gives a little shudder. "Those things were horrible."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," says Lucius as he forces his face to express the solemnity the situation requires. "I told you that they haunt for a lifetime and that was no exaggeration. You looked into the eyes of a Knight Mare, Hermione. Every time you close your own, you shall see them and the people you murdered. You will dream about them as well. In your dreams, you will live out your victim's final moments. Every night you will know what it is like to die. Again and again."

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut as if in pain. They fly open without haste. "Oh God! You are right! I saw - can any thing be done for it?"

"Very little," says Lucius, eliciting a sniffle from Hermione. "Don't despair. There is a permanent solution to your problem. You need to let go of your guilt. You need to no longer care."

"Not care?" she shrieks. "Not care? I am not you, Mr. Malfoy. I cannot take a life and brush it off as if I had merely swatted a fly! I don't even want to be that kind of person."

"Then you shall suffer. My great uncle was beleaguered by the Knight Mares. He grew utterly mad within months."

Hermione whimpers then sits up perfectly straight. A knowing look passes her face.

"You meant for this to happen, didn't you?" she says, nearly choking with rage. "That's what this was all about. You wanted to get me out in that forest so I would meet the Knight Mares!"

God, but the girl is paranoid.

Lucius carefully contemplates his answer. He truly hasn't orchestrated tonight's events; however, he did let it happen, once he realized the great benefits.

"If I might remind you, you were the one who wished to walk back to the manor," says Lucius, deciding on the truth, but not all of it. "And how was I to know that you are a murderer. That is not common knowledge."

Hermione glowers with fury, even as she continues to weep. She is evidently disappointed that she has no cause to blame him.

Lucius summons a handkerchief and dabs at her tear-stained face until Hermione angrily yanks it from him to complete the task herself. 

"What I am supposed to do now?" she whispers tearfully.

"Live…as best as you can," replies Lucius. "But, to do that, you need to change your perspective. Here you are, filled with guilt for killing Death Eaters. For murdering evil wizards who would have surely killed you had you not got to them first. Think of it as self-defense."

Hermione shakes her head.

Lucius tries a different approach. "Did you feel such remorse for sending Dolores Umbridge off to the Centaurs?"

"Umbridge?" repeats Hermione, incredulously. "What has she to do with anything?"

"Everything. And nothing."

"I didn't kill her!"

"No," begins Lucius. "But do you know where she has been for the last few years? She has been in a very isolated mental institution. Her family sent her away as she was becoming a great embarrassment. In the years since getting attacked by those Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, she has attempted suicide no less than seven times. You might not have killed her, but she no doubt wishes that you had. There are fates worse then death, Hermione, and you sentenced her to one."

"That's her own fault!" yells Hermione. "She brought it on herself by insulting the Centaurs!"

"Yes, but you knew exactly what would occur when you led her to the Forbidden Forest, didn't you? That's why you did it."

Hermione's face hardens. Lucius finds it very interesting that she still refuses to shoulder any blame for the incident.

Well, it's something to build on. 

She stands up and adjusts that horrid Muggle jacket of her. "I think this date is over. I wish to leave now."

"Yes, perhaps that would be best," says Lucius, standing as well. He goes to the large shelf behind the worktable and retrieves a ready-made bottle of an incredibly potent sleeping potion and an empty flask. He drains the remains of the soothing potion into the flask then holds them both out to Hermione.

"You'll undoubtedly have trouble sleeping. Take the sleeping potion at night. The Knight Mares will still torment you; however, the potion will make you sleep regardless. Use the soothing potion during the day; it will take the edge off."

Hermione grudgingly accepts the potions.

Five minutes later, Lucius and Hermione Apparate to Cornwall.

Hermione walks away from Lucius without a backwards glance.

"Well, thank you for showing me a spectacularly unpleasant evening. I trust you can see yourself off."

"It wasn't all bad."

Hermione turns to glare. "You can go and rot, Mr. Malfoy!"

After Hermione has slammed the door shut with a most violent force, Lucius lets out a hearty chuckle. His laughter continues to echo throughout Truro long after he has Disapparated away.

Back in the manor, Lucius journeys to the secret chambers hidden underneath the house. The rooms mostly contain artifacts of dark and dubious origins that will reward him with a long stay in Azkaban if they ever are discovered.

However, also stored within are perfectly legal magical items that are of such rarity, they require extreme measures to keep them safe and protected. He stops before the massive glass case that holds those treasures. For over twenty minutes, Lucius works to remove the spells guarding them. The heavy wards are needed to prevent the room's other objects from corrupting them with their Dark magic.

When his work is completed, Lucius pulls out a plain wooden box.

What Hermione truly needs is an attitude adjustment, and Lucius will gladly give her one. In the meanwhile, there is something else he can give her.

All week he has been mulling over what to give Hermione for the second L'Amour Contractuel gift. Lucius knows his own appeal will not be enough, not just yet. The gift needs to be highly enticing, something she will be unable to refuse. Tonight has provided him with the opportunity to give her a present she cannot turn away, not if she values her sanity.

Lucius opens the box and looks down at the Stone of Jenetti. The clear, blue gem twinkles in the light. He is extremely loath to be rid of it, but if all goes as planned, the stone will return to the Malfoy family when he marries Hermione.

He returns the lid and sets the box on a table. After a few flicks of his wand, the box is packaged as per the requirements of L'Amour Contractuel. He won't give it to her right away. No, he'll let her suffer for a few days; let her have a taste of what's in store for her, if she's foolish enough to decline his gift.

xxxxx

Well, I hope you all enjoyed chapter 6.

A few notes…

Some fics and pieces of fan art depict the Mooncalves as being upright creatures, however, since JKR specifically points out that they dance on their hind legs, this leads me to believe that they normally walk on four legs. Also, if it wasn't clear, the Mooncalves (and Hermione!) made crop circles.

The Knight Mares are my own creation. I was told that there is a published book out there that has creatures called Knight Mares, which isn't surprising as the name isn't very original, but I was unaware of it when I wrote this chapter. I highly doubt that they are similar except for the name.

Anyway, if you want to be made aware of updates, keep an eye on my LJ. A link is in my profile. You should go and friend me anyway. I need LM/HG shippers to talk to.

? 


	7. Chapter 7

Here's chapter seven! I hope you all like it. It was very hard to get everything right.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far!

And much love goes to Adie for Brit picking!

xxxxx

Lucius whistles quietly to himself as he strolls down the bustling halls of Little Red Books. Hermione's office is easy enough to find, although hidden away in a little used corridor. The door is wide open and Lucius steps inside a large room that is cluttered with the most inane devices.

Hermione is nowhere to be seen, but her co-worker, Dean Thomas, sits behind a desk, illustrating a Muggle bicycle that is magically suspended in the air.

"Can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?" asks Dean, looking up with confusion, and Lucius is glad to note, quite a bit of fear. With an unsubtle quickness, the boy reaches for his wand.

"I am here to see Hermione Granger," says Lucius, towering over him.

"Hermione?" repeats Dean, as if he has never heard the name before. The grip on his wand tightens. "What do you want with her?"

"That is none of your business," snaps Lucius. "Is she in?"

"No," Dean says hesitantly. "She is out conducting field research but she should return very soon."

"I will wait."

"Okay..." He sounds as if it is anything but okay.

Lucius sits the burgundy carpetbag he has brought with him on a small table and then watches Dean with genuine interest. Although unnerved by Lucius' looming presence, he artfully recreates the bicycle on a thick pad of parchment. His quill chases after the moving illustration.

Most Wizarding artists prefer to work with static images, only bringing them to life at the end with a few charms. Dean, however, uses the long abandoned method of animating as he sketches. The process is extremely difficult as the illustration never stays in one place, but will be well worth it. The end result will be far superior to others of the same ilk.

What a pity such talent is wasted on Muggle inventions.

"You are very much like your father," observes Lucius. "He, too, liked his art to be dynamic as he created it."

"My father?" Dean asks incredulously, looking at Lucius with wide eyes. "That's impossible. My father is a Muggle."

"Oh?" asks Lucius. He must be mistaken then. Lucius had been certain the boy was Jackson Thomas' son. Dean resembles him greatly in both looks and artistic style. "I assumed your father was Jackson Thomas."

Dean is silent for several seconds. "He is...but...but that must be a different Jackson Thomas. It has to be."

Lucius supposes that could be a possibility, but highly doubts it. "Mr. Thomas, I don't know who has been telling you those slanderous lies but your father was no more a Muggle than I am."

xxxxx

Hermione makes certain the third floor lavatory at Little Red Books is completely vacant before touching up her glamour charms. 

Her face radiates with good health. Her cheeks are flushed with pink and her brown eyes are shining and bright.

Too bright.

She looks like some vapid doll, plastic and unreal.

Hermione grimaces as she looks away from the mirror. Still, it is better than her true face, a face marred by tired, blood-shot eyes, withered cheeks and a thin, drooping mouth.

Since encountering the Knight Mares she has endured six pain-filled nights of green-tinged death and murder. Hermione boggles to think that she once believed the Killing Curse to be painless. It seems so oddly innocent from an outside perspective, almost as if they are merely being put to sleep.

In reality, it is the most excruciating pain Hermione has ever known, making the ache associated with the Cruciatus Curse almost feel like pleasure. It's as if every cell in her body is being destroyed at once, lasting only a fraction of a second but feeling like it goes on forever.

Hermione knows the truth now, and unless she finds a way out of this mess, she'll know it for the rest of her life.

Over the past week, she has exhausted every resource at her disposal but has learned nothing new about the Knight Mares. This lack of information is dismaying, but not surprising, given the nature of the beasts. But Hermione is not ready to give up. There has to be a way to dispel the Knight Mares and she will find it.

Hermione splashes cold water on her face and practices a fake smile in the mirror. The Knight Mares have made her beyond irritable and it is hard to not lash out at everyone and everything. Not wanting to call attention to her horrible condition, she, instead, smiles when she wants to cry and laughs when she wants to scream.

Satisfied that her veneer of serenity is in place and unfaltering, she goes to her office. When she enters, her stomach lurches violently at the sight of Dean and Malfoy chatting amicably over tea as if they are old friends.

Although she is loath to admit it, deep down Hermione is aware that her run in with the Knight Mares had been an unforeseen accident. Yet, she still blames him. It is just too suspicious that she should be inflicted with a horrible, life-altering condition while in his presence.

"The Dark Lord was very interested in recruiting him," Malfoy is telling a very attentive Dean. He pauses briefly to take a delicate sip of tea. "At that point it was unknown that Jackson had secretly taken up with a Muggle woman and had a child on the way."

What are they talking about?

Hermione comes in closer, attracting their attention.

"There you are, Hermione," Dean says with a smile. "We were waiting for you. Lucius and I were to about to have some lunch, if you'd like to join us."

Lucius? Since when does Dean refer to Malfoy as "Lucius"?

Completely ignoring a very bewildered Hermione, the two males gather their things and leave the office, not bothering to see if she follows.

Hermione does indeed follow, in order to get to the bottom of things. She wonders what Malfoy is up to next and how it involves Dean.

She soon learns that Jackson Thomas had not been some irresponsible louse who abandoned his pregnant wife, as Dean has always thought. Instead, he had been a pure-blood wizard - of a very distinguished line, Malfoy emphasizes - who had been murdered by Death Eaters after refusing to join their cause.

In the Leaky Cauldron, many eyebrows are raised at seeing Lucius Malfoy freely partaking a meal with two known Muggle-borns.

Well, only one Muggle-born, if Malfoy speaks the truth. 

With growing sadness, Hermione realizes she doesn't want it to be true. She doesn't want Dean to be anything but a Muggle-born.

Like her.

Dean had been very kind to her in those first months of Hogwarts when she had been completely friendless. Although she has never grown as close to him as she has with Harry and Ron, over the years, the two have enjoyed a special camaraderie in being the only Gryffindor Muggle-borns of their year.

Hermione shamefully shakes the thoughts away. Really, she is being no better than Malfoy, putting so much importance on blood. What does it matter if Dean is really a half-blood? It's not as if anything will change.

All the same, Hermione can't help but feel as if she is losing something as Malfoy regales Dean with stories about his wizard father. How he had been a Slytherin Beater a few years older than himself. How, like Dean, he displayed a great talent for the arts.

"If I am not mistaken, some of Jackson's paintings still hang in Slytherin," says Malfoy as they leave the Leaky Cauldron after their meal. He has not looked Hermione's way once the entire time. She is strangely annoyed by that. "You should ask Professor Snape to grant you entrance so that you may see them. He might allow it since the school is currently closed but should he refuse, contact me. I will entreat him on your behalf."

Malfoy accompanies them back to Little Red Books. Dean walks ahead, quietly lost in his own thoughts. Malfoy's steps fall in line with Hermione's. He looks over at her from time to time but does not speak.

Once back in the office, Malfoy goes to Dean's desk and writes something down on a scrap of parchment. He hands it to Dean and says, "This is for you. It is the last known address of Morgan Thomas, your father's brother." Malfoy pauses. "I would refrain from telling him how you got it. I am not exactly...well-regarded in some circles."

"Thanks!"

"And this, my dear Hermione, is for you," says Malfoy, finally addressing her for the very first time that afternoon. He reaches into his carpetbag and pulls out a square box wrapped exactly the same way as her first L'Amour Contractuel gift.

"Oh no, I don't want that," Hermione says quickly, pushing the gift back at Malfoy. All week she hasn't spared a single thought to L'Amour Contractuel, her mind plagued by Knight Mares, and well...nightmares.

"Don't be foolish, girl," lectures Malfoy. He sets the box on her desk and stares at her as if she is an impertinent child. "You should never decline something with no knowledge of what it is you are refusing."

He snaps his bag shut and nods to Hermione and Dean. "Good day to you both."

"I didn't know you were friends with Lucius Malfoy," says Dean, eyeing the gift after Malfoy leaves.

"I'm not," says Hermione. She tries to think of a plausible explanation for the present. Nothing comes to mind but it soon doesn't matter. Dean has already lost interest as he gazes at his uncle's address. Hermione knows he will be no good for the rest the day, distracted by the news of his father. "Dean, why don't you take the afternoon off?"

"You know, I think I will." He slips the piece of parchment into his pocket and rises from his desk. "I need to ask my mum why she lied to me about my father."

Hermione is taken back at the sudden fury in Dean's voice. "She probably didn't know!"

Dean shakes his head as he huffs out of the room. "I think she did know. She wasn't very surprised when I got my Hogwart's letter. It was like she expected it."

Hermione shuts the door after him and returns to her desk. For several minutes, she merely stares at the gift, wondering what Malfoy thinks is so valuable that she will risk another date with him to have it. Unlike her first L'Amour Contractuel gift, this one comes with a small folded letter tucked in the golden cords. She reads it first.

'Hermione,' it says in Malfoy's tidy script, 'contained within the box is a Stone of Jenetti.'

A Stone of Jenetti? What would she need with one of those?

Hermione has a passing familiarity with them. When held, the stones infuse the carrier with happy memories, magically amplifying them until no other emotion but joy can be felt. They also act as a barrier to Dementors. The aberrations will not Kiss a person holding a Stone of Jenetti. The gems had been highly coveted during the war, when several Dementors ran free. However, due to the scarcity and expense, even the wealthiest families had difficulties obtaining them.

Hermione, her curiosity now roused, reads the letter further.

'As you are doubtless aware, a Stone of Jenetti will work against Dementors. However, it is a little known fact that they also counter the effects of Knight Mares. Take the stone, Hermione. Keep it with you always and you shall suffer the Knight Mares no more...'

The letter continues but Hermione is too enraged to read on.

That rat-faced bastard!

Malfoy may not have caused her condition but he is certainly willing to take advantage of it.

Well, she will not let him!

Hermione angrily crumples the letter and grabs the box. She violently shoves them both deep into her satchel, vowing to return the gift at the first opportunity.

By the time evening rolls around, the gift is still in her possession. She sits it on top of the dresser in her bedroom upon returning home. She has yet to open the box and look at the stone, afraid she will be lured into accepting it.

Hermione had plenty of opportunity to send it back to Malfoy when visiting the owlery at Little Red Books in order to send a few reports to Professor McGonagall. At the time, she had told her herself that it would a great misuse of company resources to use them for personal correspondence.

She will return it though.

Tomorrow, she'll owl it to Malfoy and that will be the end of this sorry affair.

And the end of any chance she has of getting relief from the Knight Mares.

Hermione tries not to think of that as she changes out of her work robes and into some Muggle clothes appropriate for Sally's. She isn't especially enthusiastic about going, but after last week's nonattendance, another absence will be suspicious.

When dressed, she goes to the kitchen to take another dose of the soothing potion Malfoy has given her. The potion cannot be taken directly so she adds it to the disgusting sugar-free lemonade her mother insists on buying.

Hermione has tried to go without the potion, not keen on relying on it to get by, but the results have been disastrous. While the potion does nothing to dispel the Knight Mares, it does make the torment associated with them far easier to bear. Without it, Hermione is a sobbing wreck, unable to function at all.

Two loud cracks sound just as she is about to leave for Sally's. She rushes to the back garden and discovers that Ron and Ginny have Apparated to her home.

"Hermione!" exclaims Ron, a dazed look on his face. "What's this nonsense about Lucius Malfoy trying to court you?"

"What?"

Ron points an accusing finger at Ginny. "That's what she said!"

Ginny steps forward. She clutches a thick book to her chest. "I think we should go inside," she says somberly. 

Everyone moves into the kitchen and settles around the large Oak table.

"What's all this about?" asks Hermione, forcing down her panic. She is not going to admit to anything until she knows what evidence Ginny has. She will not hesitate to lie her way out of this, if she can.

"This is an old edition of Nature's Nobility," says Ginny as she sets the book on the table. "Neville's gran was making me look through it today so I'd know which oh so important families to invite to the wedding." Ginny scowls and then opens the book to a marked page. "You can imagine my surprise when I came to the Malfoys' section. Look, Hermione. That's the Malfoy family crest. It's the same one that came with your L'Amour Contractuel gift!" 

Hermione peers down at the book. The Malfoys' crest is emblazoned across the top of the family's entry.

Damn it!

"Erm, yes," Hermione says nervously. "I already knew that."

"You mean it's true?" Ron shrieks. "I thought Ginny was taking the piss!"

Ginny looks miserable. "I had hoped I was wrong."

"Who the hell does he think he is?" asks Ron, his face growing red with rage. "Trying to court you? As if you'd have anything to do with his wrinkled, old arse!"

Both Ginny and Ron begin loud tirades against Malfoy. Hermione rubs tiredly at her brow. She's infinitely glad Doris is not home yet. Her mother would doubtlessly jump in to sing Malfoy's praises.

"Stop! Stop!" yells Hermione, halting the rush of invectives. "Yes, Malfoy gave me the L'Amour Contractuel gift but...it was just a joke. He doesn't really want to court me. He just wanted to scare me a little. It's all over now, so it doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" asks Ginny. She slams a fist against the kitchen table. "Hermione, you can't let him get away with it! That man should be locked up in Azkaban but instead he is running free, terrorizing people!"

"He didn't get away with it. Not exactly. Er...Harry had a row with him."

Ginny nods with approval but Ron frowns.

"You told Harry but not me?"

"Harry found out by accident," Hermione quickly explains, seeing the guarded hurt in Ron's eyes. "I didn't want anyone to know - but as I said, it's all over now so can we please drop it?"

Ron, however, does not drop it. He continues to grumble about Malfoy all night.

"I just don't like being the only one kept in the dark," he says as they sit at Sally's later that evening. "And you, Harry! Why didn't you come and get me before you went after Malfoy? Don't you think I would have liked to hex him a time or two?" Ron flexes his fingers into a fist. "I might yet."

"You will leave Malfoy alone!" exclaims Hermione.

"Why do you care?" shouts Ron, drawing many stares of distaste their way.

"I don't want you to get into trouble," Hermione says in a lowered voice. "Malfoy didn't press charges against Harry but you probably won't be so lucky."

"Let him press charges!" scoffs Ron.

"Yes, and watch you kiss your Auror career goodbye!" says Hermione. "You know the rules. If you get in trouble with the Ministry then you'll get thrown out of Auror training. Malfoy isn't worth it!"

Ron fumes and abruptly leaves the table to go to the bar for another drink.

"Is it really over?" Harry asks softly as he peels the label off his cider bottle.

"Yes," Hermione says resolutely, though she thinks wistfully of the Stone of Jenetti sitting in her bedroom.

"Then what has you looking so tired?" Harry reaches out to gently turn Hermione's face towards him. "I can see past your glamours, Hermione."

Hermione pushes Harry's hand away. The lie comes quickly.

"You'd be tired too if you had to work late every night to make up for a week's absence!"

Harry blushes with guilt. Hermione would have felt guilty herself if not for the fact that she is still very miffed about being locked up in Grimmauld Place.

Hermione has only learned to appreciate sleep in the last few years. In her time at Hogwarts, she had viewed sleep as a great waste. Time lost when she could have been engaged in more fruitful activities like revising her Potions notes or mastering the latest Transfiguration spells.

It was during the war that she realized just how welcome slumber could be. A sweet respite from the horrors of the day. A brief but very welcome break from reality.

Now sleep is not just some annoying, necessary function but a dreaded enemy. Hermione wishes she need never close her eyes again. She wishes there is some way she can stay awake forever.

There isn't; there is only a powerful sleeping potion. A potion that gives her sleep whether she wants it or not.

After casting a Silencing Charm on her bedroom so that Doris will not hear her nightly screams, Hermione takes her customary dose and then rests on her bed with her eyes wide open. She won't shut them until the potion forces her to do so. In the meantime, she wonders which of her three victims will visit her dreams tonight. It is a different one every time.

Not long ago, her victims were only nameless Death Eaters. It was so much easier then. She needn't think of them as people, only malevolent monsters in billowing cloaks and white masks.

But the Knight Mares are cruel beasts and have stolen that luxury. Not only does she dream of their deaths but of their lives as well. Just as she is with them as they take their last breath, she is there for their first and all the ones in between.

That night she dreams of Oscar Kuhn, a moon-faced German boy fresh out of Durmstrang. Oscar only followed Voldemort to make his Death Eater father proud. He was just a scared little boy who got caught up in something far worse then he ever imagined. The day Hermione killed him had been one of his first in the war. There had been a sad sort of relief in his slackened face as he fell to her wand.

Hermione wakes up sobbing and screaming. Her body shakes with the lingering vestiges of the Killing Curse. More than an hour passes before Hermione is able to get out of bed. She aches for the soothing potion but first indulges in a long, hot shower.

She always feels so very dirty in the mornings. She reeks of sin. She can smell it's acrid bitterness seeping from her every pore. Hermione scrubs her body until it's red and raw even though she knows she will never truly rid herself of the filth.

It's a soiling of the soul, not the flesh.

After getting dressed, Hermione glamours on a happy face before she goes down to the kitchen. Doris is already awake and making breakfast from the smell of things.

What she does not except to find is Lucius Malfoy sitting at the table, nibbling on the end of a fat banger while Doris scrambles eggs on the hob.

"Good morning, Hermione," he says jovially, between bites.

"Lucius heard you were still feeling poorly and came by to see if he could be of some help," says Doris, smiling as she scrapes the eggs on his plate. "Wasn't that nice of him?"

"Quite," Hermione manages to say with a modicum of civility. She eyes him with distrust as she pours the soothing potion into a cup of milk.

"Oh, honey," says Doris. "I don't think you should take that anymore. It doesn't seem to be doing you any good."

Doris believes Hermione to still be suffering from the mysterious 'magical virus' and that the soothing potion is some sort of cure. Hermione is more than fine with that. The truth will probably kill her mother.

"It's working, Mum. Trust me."

"Your breakfast is in the oven," says Doris as she reaches for her car keys hanging on a hook by the back door. She looks back and forth between Hermione and Malfoy, a coy smile on her lips. "I just remembered that I need to finish some NHS paperwork before Monday."

"I bet," Hermione mumbles sourly as sips her milk.

Doris leans into Hermione before leaving. "Invite him over for supper tomorrow," she whispers.

"I will not!" shouts Hermione, drawing an interested look from Malfoy.

Doris purses her lips then does it herself. "Lucius, would you care to join us for supper tomorrow night. Around seven?"

"I'd be delighted, Doris!"

Doris smiles smugly at Hermione as she leaves the kitchen. Hermione shakes her head. She will never get over the fact that her Muggle mother is Lucius Malfoy's biggest fan.

"So why are you really here?" asks Hermione, glaring at Malfoy.

Malfoy smirks as he leisurely smears a pat of butter on his toast. "Did you have a pleasant rest last night?"

"You know I didn't!"

"Yes, I do." His eyes narrow on her. "Tell me, Hermione, why haven't you used the Stone of Jenetti? Are you really that stupid? Or perhaps you find my company so abhorrent that you'd rather suffer for the rest of your days than bear it for just a short time?"

"I don't think you want me to answer that." Hermione slams her now empty cup on the counter. "But, I'm glad you came. That way I can give you back the stone in person. Wait here!"

Hermione marches past Malfoy, frowning at him as she goes. The arrogant bastard merely continues to happily eat his breakfast as if he hasn't a care in the world.

In her bedroom, Hermione taps her fingers against the gift and sighs deeply.

This is it. She'll give it back to Malfoy, she will.

Several minutes pass and finally, curiosity getting the better of her, she opens the gift.

Hermione has never seen anything so wonderful in her life. The stone inside is a sparkling blue, slightly smaller than her fist. It radiates a mesmerizing light and she feels a warm rush of happiness wash over her as she looks at it. Her fingers itch as they move towards the stone.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" says Malfoy, lounging in the doorway. He takes a scorn-filled look at her bedroom, which hasn't changed one bit since she left for Hogwarts all those years ago. His lips curl with disgust as he takes in the numerous Oasis posters adorning her walls and the vast collection of Care Bears her Aunt Eloise foisted on her as a child.

"I told you to wait downstairs!" Hermione snaps, though she is secretly glad he interrupted her musings. She had been very close to taking up the stone.

She thrusts the open box at him. "Here it is. Take it!"

Malfoy moves to stand behind her. Before Hermione can react, he wraps an arm around her chest, pinning her to his own. He presses a hand against Hermione's face, forcing her to close her eyes.

"Is this what you really want to live with?"

Hermione shudders against him as the Knight Mares haze her mind. The clapping hooves of the specters beat madly, feeling like thousands of nails being hammered into her head. The box holding the Stone of Jenetti falls from her hands as she claws at Malfoy. Her strength steeled by desperation, she is able to break free.

"It isn't so bad," lies Hermione, refusing to meet his eyes. "I do just fine with the soothing potion."

"And for how long?" asks Malfoy, lifting his pale eyebrows. "I know you excelled at Potions. You should know that after prolonged and heavy use of the potion, you will grow immune to its effects. At the rate you are going, I'd wager you have less than a month."

It is a hard, horrible truth that haunts Hermione whenever she chances to think of it.

"Then I'll find something else that will work! There has to be another way. I don't need you or your damn stone!"

"Oh, but you do," Malfoy says with an awful smile. "Until you come to terms with your crimes there is only this."

He reaches down to pick up the Stone of Jenetti.

Hermione watches, fascinated despite herself, as he closes his eyes and the hard lines of his face melt away. A smile of pure joy stretches his thin lips. He mutters inaudibly then erupts into rich, deep laughter. She has never seen Malfoy look so vulnerable, so utterly unguarded as he is transfixed by the peculiar powers of the stone. 

Malfoy does not move for minutes. He is not there, she knows. He is lost in a powerful memory of a better time, a better place.

"Mr. Malfoy?" she queries, breaking the spell.

With his free hand, he fumbles in the pocket of his robes and pulls out a large handkerchief. He shifts the stone so that it rests in the center of the white fabric. No longer is Malfoy completely spellbound, but his gray eyes still twinkle merrily in the light of the stone.

He holds it out to her. "This is your last chance, Hermione."

Hermione backs away, frantically shaking her head. "I can't..."

"You can't or you won't?"

"I can't!" Hermione gives him her back. "And I won't! I won't let you win!"

Malfoy presses against her once more and then wraps one arm around her waist in a half embrace. He raises the Stone of Jenetti to her face. The brilliance of the stone stings her eyes yet she cannot look way from it.

"It's not about winning or losing, Hermione," Malfoy says against her ear, his voice a lulling caress. "You are a bright witch and maybe you will find another solution someday but your time is running out. Are you willing to risk it? The Knight Mares will steal your sanity and corrode your mind. Are you going to let them? All for the sake of preserving your pride?"

Hermione stares unwaveringly at the stone. It looks like a tangible beacon of hope, hers for the taking if she only picks it up.

And then she does.

Hermione doesn't have the time for regrets or shame for her weakness. A complete and sudden explosion of happiness quickly overwhelms her as she is immersed in a memory of long ago.

She is herself at age three, short and chubby in a flowery purple nightgown. Her father's meaty arms hold her close as he rocks her to sleep. His deep, gravelly voice lacks any bit of musicality yet his halting lullaby is an aria for the ages.

In the back of her mind, she aware of other arms holding her. Arms that are long and lean, pressing her against a solid, compact body that is nothing like the oversized bulk of Reginald Granger. She is nearly jolted into reality when she feels soft lips capture her own in a very unfatherly-like kiss.

But it doesn't matter.

The whole of her existence revolves around her father's song; it's melody wrapping around her like a warm blanket of love and protection.

"Sweet dreams, Hermione," she hears a drawling voice say, just as the darkness of sleep overtakes her. 

xxxxx

Well, I hope this chapter was to your satisfaction. I couldn't let Hermione suffer for too long. Although, sometimes the cure is worse than the ill. On the surface, being happy all the time may seem pleasant but I personally wouldn't like it. You'll soon find out how Hermione reacts to it.

And also, those of you wanting things to heat up will be a little pleased with some developments the next chapter. It was a pretty fun one to write. 


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